


Don't Go Gentle

by alwaysalosver (kwhyloren)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Also a lot of emotions about the losers and Eddie's relationships with them, And love, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Gore, Canon but with a twist, Canonical Character Death, Eddie centric, Eddie is so strong he changes the future by sheer force of will, I poured all my sadness into this one fellas, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Major Character Injury, Major Eddie Kaspbrak feels, Nightmares, Prophetic Dreams, Some soft reddie mixed in, TW emotional manipulation for the first few chapters because myra is a bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 69,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kwhyloren/pseuds/alwaysalosver
Summary: While facing down Neibolt as a kid, Eddie gets caught in the deadlights. Twenty-seven years later, the nightmares start.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 130
Kudos: 146





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! This is my first full Reddie fic, and the one I put the most work into. So far as of me writing this, I've been working on it for about three months and it's over 40k words. I poured my heart and soul into this, so I really hope you enjoy! Eddie Kaspbrak means the world to me. Here's to him, the bravest Loser.
> 
> The title is based on the famous poem, but it's also heavily based on the song _Somebody to Die For_ by Hurts, which I listened to on repeat many times while writing this.
> 
> For more reddie content, you can find me on twitter @ alwaysalosver where I write social media AUs.
> 
> Dedicated to my good friends Rachel and Ella, who listened to my ramblings and cheered me on. I love you guys :')

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight  
> Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,  
> Rage, rage against the dying of the light."
> 
> — Dylan Thomas, "Do not go gentle into that good night"

Eddie’s alone in Neibolt when he gets caught in the deadlights. 

It’s an accident, really, getting separated from Richie and Bill. The looming, rotting walls of the house are suffocating. How many years of dust are they breathing in right now? How many people died here? Would they die here too? 

_“Eddie…”_

He freezes, recognizing the voice. His lungs seize, throat constricting painfully. The leper. It’s here— It’s here and they’re just kids, and they shouldn’t have come. They’re all going to end up on missing posters, just like the one Richie saw downstairs.

He struggles to pull his inhaler out, hands shaking so violently he’s afraid that he might drop it. Afraid he’ll see the leper’s blistered hand reaching again to pick it up. The first time he got away. This time, he doesn’t feel like he’ll be so lucky.

The tang of medicine coats his tongue as he inhales, soothing his breathing, but not the pounding of his heart. There’s noises, sickly awful ones, coming from the door down the hall.

“Guys…” he gasps, arm reaching out behind him to find… nothing.

Richie and Bill aren’t there, and the door down the hall in front of him is opening. He turns just in time to see his friends’ forms disappear behind a closing door. It looks like it’s miles away, but he’s already running, breath short and panicked.

“Guys! _Guys!_ ” he yells.

His back is prickling with the kind of anxiety that only comes when something is chasing you. He hasn’t looked back yet, but he’s sure It’s there. The rotting skin, the oozing sores, the _smell…_

“Eddie?!” Bill’s panicked voice comes from the other side of the door and Eddie knows then he’s in deep trouble.

When Big Bill is scared, something’s wrong.

The floor gives out in front of him, boards of wood cracking open like sharpened teeth. Eddie barely stops in time, still screaming. 

“ _Fuck!_ ” 

There’s no way he can jump over that without hurting himself, no way to get to his friends. The prickling sensation in his back gets worse, though he can’t bear to glance behind him. He already knows it’s over from the circus music drifting softly up through the open floorboards. He’s been caught.

What was the last thing he said to Richie before all of this? To Bill or Stan? His mom— he lied to her. His stomach clenches just before the wet weight of the leper’s hand finds his shoulder. That’s when the smell of puss and blood hits him.

_“Time to take your pill, Eddie…”_

The hand on his shoulder guides him to look. A gaping hole of a nose, the bulging blind eye, thick lines of drool pooling from the red pill sitting on It’s swollen tongue. All the air leaves Eddie’s lungs and he’s falling backwards into nothing. He sees the splintered boards swallow him whole. 

Eddie’s back and arm explode with pain as he hits something hard. The watch on his wrist goes off. _Eddie!_ it says, in frantic beeps. _Your time’s up! Your medicine can’t save you now!_ His arm’s throbbing so bad it feels like Bowers is taking a rock to it. 

It’s entirely too much, and he probably blacks out because his back feels sore and stiff when he finally sits up with a jolt. Thousands of needles are jabbing into his arm to the beat of his heart. He has to keep himself from screaming when he sees the angle it’s at. His breath comes in short gasps.

_Broken, it’s broken. My fucking arm’s broken and my mom’s going to freak out and I’ll be in the emergency room for weeks—_

The rusty fridge in front of him moves and he realizes it’s silly, thinking about hospitals when he doesn’t even know if he’ll see daylight again. First, gloved fingers tapping the doorframe, then it opens with a metal wail.

The clown. It’s laugh makes Eddie feel so nauseous with dread that he almost forgets the pain in his arm. He pushes himself pathetically backwards across the debris on the floor. For a moment, he wishes Bill and Rich were there to help, but he knows they’d be dead too if they were.

_I hope they get out,_ he thinks. _If they make it, that’s all that matters._

Only he doesn’t want to die.

Eddie’s back hits a cabinet, sending bits of old spider webs and dust raining down on him. It’s there in seconds, grabbing onto his shoulder. His broken arm surges with pain as It’s grip tightens. The undeniable will to live rises up so quickly in him that he doesn't think before fighting back, slapping at It's painted face with his good arm.

It grabs his wrist and laughter bubbles up from It’s throat. Eddie lets out a sob, hot tears streaking down his cheeks. Despite the fear in his chest, he still struggles against It's grasp.

_“Poor Eds, all alone…”_

It brings his hand close to It's mouth and Eddie yelps because it looks like he's about to be dinner.

There's screaming upstairs and Eddie's heart drops. It's head snaps in the direction of the noise, flicking small bits of drool onto his t-shirt. He gags.

Something has given the clown pause. He would be grateful, but he's pretty sure his friends are next. Eddie's good arm tugs against It's grip and he almost frees his hand.

The clown's gaze moves back to him, anger disfiguring It's features. The grip around his wrist tightens into a vice at the last moment and Eddie's sure it almost breaks. He can feel his bones straining against the pressure.

"Get away from me!" he squeaks.

_"Don't worry, Eds. I'll come back for you after I take care of your little friends."_

"No—"

His voice catches in his throat as It's face begins to split open from the mouth up. Eddie's lungs are tightening and he can barely see through the tears. It's mouth is now gaping and he thinks he sees rows and rows of teeth, but it's the lights that distract him. Three distinct balls of light, glowing, enticing. He can't help but stare.

The pain in Eddie's arm fades and his wheezes slow as he feels his own body fall away from him.

It feels like he's floating.

***

_A flash, a hatch with a strange symbol in a dim room. Then he's with someone in a dark chamber, a man with glasses. His mouth moves, but Eddie can't hear any of it. It's static. His own mouth moves to reply, but no sound comes out._

_There's ringing in his ears as the man leads him by the wrist. It's funny. Eddie realizes he has no idea who this guy is, but he trusts him._

_They come into another room, obscured mostly by fog. The man lets go of his wrist, looking panicked._

_"We gotta help them," he says._

_Eddie isn't sure who he's talking about._

_He turns, green light glaring off his glasses, and runs into the blur of the room. Eddie follows, moving in slow motion. His hand reaches out in front of him and he feels himself scream something, but the noise of it rings empty in his ears._

_The man turns towards Eddie, eyes large, concerned,_ **_familiar_ ** _behind the glass of his lenses. Right before Eddie reaches him, something tears violently through the man's chest. Blood spurts outward, and Eddie feels the sickening warm spray of it splatter his face._

_He's reaching out, gasping, catching the man in the glasses as he falls. A distorted laugh echoes around them in the chamber, but Eddie can also hear screaming._

_He holds the bleeding man, heart twisting with such intense grief that he's sure he'll die of it. This man who he doesn't recognize, dying in his arms. He loves him, he can_ **_feel_ ** _it, but it makes no sense._

_Time slows as the man's hand tenderly touches the side of Eddie's face. His wide eyes are brimming with tears._

_"Eds…" he says._

_And then Eddie Kaspbrak wakes up._

The room is dark when Eddie bolts upright in bed, nightshirt clinging to his skin. He wheezes, hand fumbling for his inhaler on the nightstand. Relief surges through him as he finds it and brings it to his mouth to take a quick hit. His lungs and throat feel better, but for some reason his heart is still pounding.

He hasn't had a nightmare like that in… a _long_ time. Vaguely, he remembers his mother worrying about 'night terrors' when he was a kid, but it couldn't have been prolonged. There would have been more doctor visits, more worrying from his mother, and he _definitely_ would have mentioned it in his previous medical history he gave to his doctor when he moved to New York.

"Well, that's great," he mutters, glimpsing the clock.

3:29 am. He has to leave for work in less than three hours. His free hand moves to massage his forehead, trying to dissuade an oncoming headache. It's slick with sweat and he lets out a sigh. He pats the bedsheets and finds, with a cringe, that they're damp, too. There's no way he's _not_ showering and throwing all of this in the washer.

_No sense in going back to sleep_. Eddie pulls back the covers and stands, setting his inhaler back down on the nightstand. 

The memory of the dream clings to him even as he washes the sweat away in the shower. Dreams were never something Eddie remembered— in fact, it was rare he dreamt at all. Occasionally he'd wake up a little panicked in the morning from something he assumed was caused by work-related stress; he remembered that he _did_ dream, but of what, he had no idea.

This time is different, and he can't pinpoint why. He can't understand it. Why did he have a nightmare about a man he didn't recognize dying?

_It's probably just stress,_ he rationalizes. _I saw the guy on the street or something and my brain remembered his face and I translated my stress onto him. That's all._

But… why did he still feel so _sad?_

He frowns at the fogged up mirror of the bathroom as he considers it. Sure, it's sad watching someone die in a dream, but it wasn't any of his friends from work, and it wasn't his mother, or Myra. It was some stranger, who he apparently cares enough about to feel distraught even after he's woken up.

There's shuffling in the hallway outside the door and Eddie is suddenly scared.

"Eddie?" Myra's worried tone sounds from the other side of the door. "Is something wrong? Do I need to call the doctor?"

The doorknob jiggles and Eddie's glad he had the foresight to lock it.

"No, it's fine. I'm fine, Marty," he says, calming down. Of _course_ it was Myra outside the door, who else would it be? "Just couldn't sleep. I uh… I have a big meeting today."

It's technically not a lie.

"I'll cook you breakfast. If you don't get your energy levels up you'll get sick, Eddie. You know how delicate your immune system is… you need your sleep."

Yesterday he probably would have given into her, but at the moment he feels different. Did losing sleep make him irritable? Probably. Other than that, maybe the nightmare he had is the start of something worse, like sleep paralysis. Whatever it is, right now he wants to be left alone.

"I'll be fine, they put food out before morning meetings," he says, like he actually eats the stuff. Most of it he avoids for health reasons. 

In truth, his appetite is currently nonexistent. He figures watching someone die will do that. It wasn't real, but it had _felt_ real.

The doorknob jiggles again and he hears Myra audibly sigh.

"Eddie, _please_ unlock the door. You have me worried," she says. "You don't sound like yourself."

He glances at himself in the mirror again, still frowning. There's dark circles under his eyes and his skin is paler than usual. His damp hair is sticking up in some places. He smooths it down before gingerly picking up his discarded pajamas from the floor. He'll have to scrub that later.

"I'm opening the door," he says, unlocking it.

Myra's standing there when he opens it. She immediately steps closer, feeling his forehead and fussing. He hasn't yet left the doorway.

"Oh, Eddie, you look _awful_. I think you're coming down with something," she says. "I'll get the vitamin C supplements from the kitchen. You should get some rest, your boss will understand if you call in sick."

Eddie shakes his head.

"I'm not sick, Myra. I feel fine. This meeting is important, I can't miss it," he says. "I'll take some vitamins and nap when I get home. It'll be fine."

She doesn't look convinced. 

"You're straining your body, Eddie. You need to rest. You still have time before work—"

" _No_ ," he says, too harshly. It makes Myra jump as if he's hit her.

"No?"

Eddie can't tell her about the sweaty bed sheets, or how terrified he is to go back to sleep. That will make her worry more, and then he really _will_ have to stay home, or risk her crying. He hates when she cries.

"I'm not tired. Marty, you should go back to bed. I don't want you getting sick."

He hopes it works.

Myra's lip quivers and for a moment, Eddie is scared she really will start to cry.

"You're right, I can't take care of you if I'm sick too. Promise me you'll be careful, Eddie."

"I will. Promise."

Myra nods, but doesn't move. It takes Eddie a moment to realize she's waiting for him. He presses a quick kiss to her cheek.

"Love you," he says.

The words have lost their meaning over the years for how much he's said them.

"I love you too, Eddie Bear," she replies, smiling. It's a worried smile, but he can tell she's given in.

She turns and heads back down the hall to her room. Eddie is finally alone again. He makes his way back to his room, dropping the pajamas in the hamper before he starts in on the bed sheets. 

While they're in the wash, he shuffles to the kitchen to take his daily vitamins, along with the other medications he's on. Myra's placed them all into a container marked by weekday. He opens the one for Tuesday, and is struck by a memory of his mother carefully placing pills into a case like this one.

Not much has changed for Eddie Kaspbrak.

It doesn't matter. Sure, the cabinets look like a pharmacy exploded, but he'd rather be cautious and healthy than anything else. Thinking of the alternatives makes his anxiety spike.

Eddie checks the clock on the wall and sighs. He should probably get ready for work, though no part of him actually _wants_ to go. That's new, too. Usually he's glad to get out of the house and get to work on logical arguments and numbers. 

He feels paranoid. Dreaming about death isn't exactly a good sign. What if he gets in an accident on the way to work? Plenty of freak accidents happen in the city.

No. No, that's superstitious. He doesn't believe in that shit.

_Pull yourself together,_ Eddie scolds himself. _Come on, Kaspbrak. You're going to work and blowing that meeting out of the water._

Eddie finishes taking the last of his pills and makes his way back to his bedroom. The memory of the dream hangs over him, churning like a coming storm, though he does manage to stop thinking about it at work.

He does well at the meeting, gets a lot of paperwork for a big assessment done, and heads home feeling accomplished. Myra's still worried, but she seems placated by the fact that Eddie looks a lot better than he did that morning.

"Here, Eddie. Drink this herbal tea before you go to bed," she says. "It will help you sleep."

"Thanks, Myra."

Eddie flips through the cartoon section of the newspaper as he drinks it later that night. He realizes that he misses reading comic books like he did when he was young. Didn't he used to read them with a friend? Or friends? Finding the memory is like trying to look through thick fog, so he stops trying.

Maybe he'll pick something up tomorrow after work.

The dream doesn't come that night, and he thinks he's in the clear; it was a fluke. He takes his pills in the morning, goes to work, and stops at a comic store on the way home. They have two of the old _ThunderCats_ issues, which he examines as if he's looking at delicate fossils. He buys them and grins the whole way home.

Rinse and repeat. 

Tea that night while reading one of the comics (which Eddie's sure he's read before), no nightmares, wake up and take his pills, go to work, come home.

The peace lasts about a week. Eddie goes to bed, thinking he's safe, the ordeal is over with. Then, he dreams again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "Here stands a man  
> At the bottom of a hole he's made  
> Still sweating from the rush  
> His body tense  
> His hands, they shake  
> Oh this, this is a mad boy"
> 
> — "The War" by SYML

_ Eddie opens his eyes to the strange hatch engraved with a symbol he doesn't understand. He takes a step forward and in a blink, he's in the dark chamber again.  _

_ The man in the glasses is there, holding his wrist and leading him. This man is going to die, Eddie knows it. He's seen it happen once now. _

_ He tries to stop himself from walking, tries to pull his arm from the man's grasp, but it feels like he's powerless. They make it into the bigger room by the time he struggles enough to actually do something.  _

_ "Don't— don't go in there," he forces out, feeling a headache start with the effort. _

_ The man turns, puzzled. _

_ "We can't just leave them, Eds. Come on." _

_ He starts walking again and Eddie knows that if he doesn't do something now, he'll die. His body starts to run without any effort on his part, but he knows it's the same choreography as last time. _

_ "Watch out!!" he screams, head exploding with more pain. _

_ The man in glasses moves, as if trying to get out of the way of something, but it still gets him. It pierces him in the left side of the stomach this time and rips outward, taking some vital things with it. Eddie catches the man, falling to his knees. His hands are slick with blood and they reach to feebly try to hold the man's intestines in. _

_ "Fuck— fuck, Eddie, I don't—" _

_ "Don't say it, you're fine. You're fine, we just need to get you help." _

_ He can't die this time, he  _ **_can't_ ** _. Eddie can't handle the thought of it. His head is pounding and his heart feels like it's about to burst with grief. _

_ "Sorry," the man says. "I'm sorry." _

_ Eddie takes his hand. It's cold. _

_ He leans downward to rest his forehead against his. _

_ "I'm here," Eddie's voice cracks. "I won't leave you." _

_ "Eddie, I—" _

_ A distorted screech echoes off the walls of the cavern and everything goes white. _

  
  


Eddie's eyes pop open to the plain white paint of his bedroom ceiling. His face is wet, his head hurts. He slowly sits up and touches his cheek with his fingers. Oh. He's crying. Casting a glance back at his pillow, he notices small damp spots from his tears. He grabs the pillow and turns it over to hide them.

His nose is running, too. He swipes a tissue from the box on the nightstand and dabs at it. The tissue comes back smeared with red.

"Oh, shit!" he gasps, holding the tissue to his nose, heart pounding.

Was he too loud? If Myra wakes up and sees his nose is bleeding, she'll have a fit. He'll have to take off work and go with her to the emergency room.

Symptoms: pounding headache verging on migraine, bloody nose… oh, and a sadistic nightmare from hell.

_ Nightmares _ from hell. He's had two now, and they're not recurring because they weren't exactly the same. That  _ is  _ the right definition isn't it? He'll have to look it up because it's definitely  _ some _ kind of condition he's developing.

Eddie tosses the tissue in the little trash can he keeps by the bedside and grabs another. It comes back less red this time, which is a minor relief. Just a small nosebleed, nothing serious. Could be worse. It's not like his guts are hanging out, right? 

The thought actually makes his stomach hurt and he feels his eyes sting a little. 

_ Okay, don't think about that. Don't think about him saying your name, or the fear in his eyes, or the way his hand gripped yours like it was all he had left— _

Eddie breaks down. At first, it's just sniffles, but it devolves into silent, shaking sobs. He grips the sheets, waiting for the gaping hole of pain in his chest to mend. 

It eventually fades enough that he stops crying, but the pounding in his head has worsened. 

_ Fuck, what time is it? _

He turns his gaze to the nightstand, barely glimpsing the numbers through the haze of pain. Almost 4 am. Another day at work that he'll be a wreck.

His hands release their death grip on the sheets to pull them back. He stands, steadying himself on the nightstand when dizziness hits him. Migraine. Why did it have to be a migraine?

Grabbing his water bottle from the nightstand, he slowly makes his way to the door and opens it as silently as he's able. He steps lightly across the floor towards the bathroom, not bothering to close the door; that would just make noise. Waking Myra now would be another nightmare entirely.

Eddie opens the medicine cabinet and scans it, plucking the ibuprofen bottle off the top shelf. He takes two pills and finally looks in the mirror. Dark circles, smeared blood under his nose, puffy eyes. Awful. He looks awful.

What he  _ should _ do is shower and wash the blood away, but it's too early for that. He doesn't usually shower until 5, and Myra would fuss about how he needs his sleep. So, he only has one option. 

Sighing, he grabs a dark washcloth from the bathroom closet and soaks it before starting to clean his face. Something about the action feels familiar— the blood, the towel, the bathroom —and it strikes him as strange. Has something like this happened before? It feels like it  _ has _ , but no memory of it comes.

When Eddie's finished, he wonders what he should do with the evidence. The thought of blood, even a small amount of it, mixing with the detergent and touching all the other towels being washed makes him feel nauseous. He's had enough of blood lately.

Should he hand wash it? Myra's bound to notice; it makes too much noise. He can't let it sit around and gather bacteria either. Maybe he should throw it away? It's wasteful, sure, but the thought of it being gone makes him feel safer somehow. Like his nose never bled, or like the dream never happened. 

He takes the damp towel and goes back into his room, tossing it in the trash can. It plops on top of the bloody tissues and he makes a face. 

_ It's too early for this shit, _ he thinks. He gingerly takes the trash bag out and ties it shut. He'll toss it in the kitchen's larger bin and hope Myra doesn't root through it. She's not  _ that _ paranoid.

Eddie's migraine ebbs into a headache and he figures he's well enough to use his laptop. He takes care of the trash situation, washes his hands quietly at the sink, then sits on his chair in the living room, PC on his lap.

He searches, 'recurring nightmares definition' and scans the results carefully. Okay, so he was wrong, his nightmares  _ are _ recurring. Sighing, he searches 'recurring nightmare causes.' His eyes widen as he reads over them.

Anxiety, depression, PTSD, sleep disorders. He feels his lungs constrict slightly and tries to calm himself down. He's only had the nightmare twice now, that's technically not  _ chronic _ , right?

Biting his lip, he searches 'chronic definition' and feels slightly relieved. They're not prolonged, so not chronic. Is it anxiety? He takes medication for that. Maybe he should schedule an appointment with his doctor to get evaluated again.

But he's curious. He types 'dreams about someone dying.' There's a list of possible meanings on a site that  _ probably  _ isn't reputable, but he decides to read it anyway. 

One: it's an omen of that person's impending death. Eddie doesn't know the man, not really, but reading that still makes his heart twinge. He cares about him,  _ that _ he knows, and he hopes it's not this meaning.

Two: change or rebirth. No, can't be that. His routine has been the same for five years.

Three: desire to get out of an oppressive situation. Oh. It feels like Eddie's waking up from another dream before he thinks,  _ Myra _ . This might be it. The way he's had to sneak around just this morning to avoid her waking up and fussing over him is proof enough. He still has a headache, albeit diminishing, and decides to think more about  _ that _ situation later.

Four: fear of losing the person. Could it be that? It really doesn't make sense to him, but he knows in the dream, he had been desperate to stop the man from dying. He  _ was _ afraid of losing him, he just doesn't know who  _ he _ is.

He's about to close his laptop in frustration when he glimpses the next meaning and stops.

Five: psychological disturbance. Traumatic experiences, which links closely with PTSD as a cause for the recurring nightmares. Eddie hasn't had any traumatic experiences, though. Stressful, yes, but… he would remember something traumatic, wouldn't he?

His eyes wander to the clock to distract himself and he realizes it's almost 5 am. Accidentally waking Myra now won't be a problem. He shuts down his laptop and puts it away, heading off to take his shower. 

The nightmare still lingers. It creeps into Eddie's mind in the quiet moments of his job when he loses focus and lets his mind wander. He thinks about it on the way home while stuck in New York traffic. During dinner he zones out for five minutes staring at his food until Myra bombards him with questions like:  _ Did you lose your appetite? Do you have any nausea? Are you coming down with a fever? _ He shrugs her off and tells her he's just distracted thinking about work.

Soon, he finds himself not thinking about it as much, though he does continue to research when he can. No good answers come from it.

Four days after the nightmare, Eddie's in the kitchen making himself a plate of leftovers for dinner. Myra's in the living room flipping through channels. He glances behind him and watches the screen over the knee wall of the kitchen. She stays on each for a few seconds, sees nothing she likes, and keeps going. He sighs and turns his attention to the fridge and grabs a water bottle.

The TV drones on behind him.

"—I turn to  _ him _ and I say well, if you didn't want me fucking your sister, then maybe—"

Myra makes a disgusted noise and changes the channel. Eddie freezes in front of the fridge, dinner in one hand, bottle in the other. That voice. That  _ voice _ .

He turns on his heel and walks briskly into the living room.

"Turn that back," he says.

Myra seems taken aback by his abruptness. 

"What?"

"Turn it back! Go back to that— the guy."

"Eddie, you don't want to watch that man, do you? He has such a foul mouth—"

Eddie tosses his water bottle onto his chair to free his hand and moves to grab the remote from her. She gasps and reaches as if to grab it back, but he's already hit the channel button.

A man on a stage appears. A man with glasses and an  _ incredibly _ familiar face. Eddie's stomach drops. Everything else around him falls away and all he knows is the TV screen.

The man is still talking.

"—believe that? I'm telling you, glasses really get the ladies going. No, seriously. Look."

He takes his glasses off.

"No glasses, I'm— what, mildly sexy? But  _ with _ them?"

He puts them back on, wiggles his eyebrows. 

"Smart looking motherfucker. And smart is  _ hot _ . You almost wouldn't know how I got so fuckin' blind in the first place," he pauses, asseses the audience. "That's right. The rumors are true. Masturbation."

Eddie's dinner drops out of his hands and onto the carpet. Myra yells something, but he can't hear her. All he can see and hear is  _ that _ man, the one from his nightmares. The one who dies.

"So if anyone ever gets on your case about that shit, just tell them: Richie Trashmouth Tozier says it helps with getting laid, so it's probably fine."

_ Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier, Richie Tozier. _

The name bounces around his head, echoes off his insides. It resonates with him, makes him feel like vomiting.

He feels Myra wrench the remote out of his hand and shut off the TV. She's grabbing him by the shoulders, looming over him.

" _ Eddie! _ Answer me, what is going on?! You're  _ scaring _ me!"

"Trashmouth," he says under his breath. 

It feels natural on his tongue.

" _ What _ ? Oh, Eddie, you're not making any sense. You need help," she says. "We need to get you to a doctor—”

“No,” he mutters before his voice becomes louder, bolder. “No, I’m not going anywhere, I’m… I have to be alone right now.”

He tries to remove himself from her grasp, but her grip tightens on his shoulders.

“Eddie,  _ please _ , you’re not acting like yourself. There has to be something wrong, let me help you.”

“You can help by letting go of me,” he replies. In his desperation and panic, he’s somehow found the strength to tell Myra off.

She flinches and lets go, lip quivering. Ah, she’s going to cry. Always the last defense when he won’t listen.

_ I don’t care, _ he thinks.  _ I have to be alone or I’m going to fucking lose it. _

Eddie avoids the mess of dinner on the carpet and walks past his now sniffling wife to grab his laptop. His stomach is churning; whatever appetite he had earlier is long gone. He has the mind to grab his unopened water bottle off his chair before he heads into his room.

“Fuck,” he says, once he’s alone. “Fucking  _ shit _ .”

He sits on the bed and turns on the laptop, leg shaking as he impatiently waits for it to boot up. The moment it does, he frantically opens the internet and searches ‘Richie Tozier.’

There’s pictures, video clips, several links to websites, and places to buy tickets for the ‘Trashmouth Tour.’ Eddie starts by looking through the pictures. He scrolls through several, heart beating wildly in his chest. It’s definitely him, there’s no doubt. 

Videos are next. Most of them are clips from shitty stand up routines of the same caliber of what was on the TV, but Richie’s voice is what gets to him. It’s exactly the voice from his nightmare.

Eddie feels terror spike through his body. He’s never seen Richie before in his life. Never heard of his comedy, never seen a picture or watched one of his specials. Nothing, not even a glimpse.

So how did his nightmare get Richie Tozier  _ exactly _ right?

He pushes the laptop away from him on the bed. His hands are shaking. What did he read on that website a few days ago?

_ Dreams of someone dying are an omen. _

What if Richie  _ was _ going to die? What if he sees it on the news a week from now and  _ knows _ he could have stopped it? No, that’s crazy. He can’t just call the guy’s agent and say he had a fucking prophetic nightmare. It would probably be mistaken as a threat anyway. Not only that, but— since when did he believe in superstitious bullshit?

Since he dreamt about a guy he’s never met and felt like he  _ knew _ him, that’s when. 

Eddie feels nauseous. It’s not good of him to skip completely out on dinner, but he doubts he’d be able to keep any of it down. If he keeps this up, he’ll probably actually get sick and Myra’s fussing would actually have been worth something for once.

He waits in his room until he hears his wife go to bed. It takes him some time, but he scrubs the living room carpet free of food stains. His sleep is restless that night, but he doesn’t dream.

Myra guilts him the next day. She ignores him, but he can see her sneaking glances and hear her sniffling. It makes him crazy enough that he goes for a drive, aimlessly making turns before he spots an ice cream shop. He parks his car and walks to the window to order.

It’s been so long since he’s done something like this. Something spontaneous and enjoyable. The cashier hands him two vanilla cones. Eddie looks at them, puzzled.

“I only ordered one,” he says.

They look equally confused.

“You said two small vanilla cones.”

“No, I— wait.”

_ Did _ he? After he parked he walked to the window and he thought—

_ I’ll get one for Richie too. _

Eddie feels like he’s about to have a panic attack.

“You okay, sir?” the cashier asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just… I’m a little out of it today,” he says, sounding like he just ran a mile. “Two is fine, thanks.”

He pays and takes both of the cones back to his car. His eyes glance to the passenger seat, half expecting to see someone there. No one is.

“What the  _ fuck _ ,” he says, throat tightening.

Why had he ordered a second cone for  _ Richie _ ? How insane is that? Maybe he really is spiraling. It’s getting harder to breathe.

Eddie manages to awkwardly hold both cones with one hand so he can grab his spare inhaler from the car's cup holder. He triggers it and takes a deep breath, feeling somewhat less awful.

_ Forget it. Just forget it and eat your ice cream. _

He turns on the car radio and listens to oldies while he takes his time finishing the cones. Going back to the house, back to Myra, can wait.

His stalling doesn’t put off the inevitable confrontation. When he walks in, she’s already rushing into his space.

“Where have you  _ been _ ? I was  _ so _ worried something had happened!” she gasps, already red in the face.

“Myra, I was only gone for an hour,” he says.

“You didn’t even say ‘I love you, bye’ like you usually do. No kiss on the cheek, no goodbye— and that  _ incident _ last night. I found  _ blood _ in the trash, Eddie. Blood!!”

Oh, so she  _ is _ that paranoid.

“You went through the  _ trash _ ?” he asks, disbelieving.

Her eyes are wide, brimming with tears.

“I saw a bag in there last night when I was throwing away your food. Oh, Eddie, why didn’t you _tell_ _me_? You’re _scaring_ me!”

“ _ This _ is why I didn’t tell you. How you’re acting right now,” he says.

Myra’s lip quivers and Eddie’s surprised when the tears in her eyes don’t bother him for a second time. Maybe he’s so used to it that it just doesn’t matter anymore. His mother was always like this, crying to get sympathy, to get her way. It was why it took him three tries to move out.

“Eddie, I’m just  _ worried. _ Please, why don’t you understand that? I  _ love _ you, Eddie.”

Her voice cracks the second time she says his name. It breaks his resolve, but only a little.

“If… If you love me, you’ll give me some space. Okay, Marty? I need space. Please.”

She seems to give in some at the use of her nickname, but she’s still blocking his way.

“But Eddie… you’ve been so secretive lately, and you don’t look well. Am I just supposed to stand by and watch you get sicker?”

“Yes,” he says. “I’m going to my room.”

Eddie takes a step and hopes she moves, which she does, miraculously. Myra doesn’t say anything else to him that he hears. He closes his door and locks it, just in case she gets a second wind.

Like a prisoner, he only leaves his room to use the bathroom or eat for the rest of the day. He binges two Richie Tozier specials and falls asleep during the second. No nightmare comes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "And when I turned to look at where you should've been, I started drifting  
> I tried to stare into your eyes and realized that there was something missing"
> 
> —  "Drifting" by On An On 

It  _ does _ come two nights later.

_ When Eddie sees the hatch with the symbol this time, he knows what he has to do. In a flash, he’s in the cavern again, Richie holding his wrist and leading him onward. This is it. If he says his name now and he responds, he’ll know this is real. _

_ “Richie,” he says, but his voice is so soft he can barely hear it himself. _

_ They keep walking. Eddie musters all the strength he can. _

_ “Richie, stop!” _

_ They halt and Richie turns, eyebrows furrowed. _

_ “Eds, we have to go,” he says. _

_ Something stirs inside him at the nickname, unlike the last times. Oh. Richie Tozier. Rich. _

_ Richie, who he shared ice cream with on those days of summer when nothing else mattered but refreshing cold to beat the heat. Richie, who shared all his comics with him. Rich, who called him 'Eds,' 'Eddie Spaghetti,' 'cute, cute, cute!' Rich... who was going to die. _

_ Eddie feels his eyes fill with tears. _

_ "I—" he starts, voice catching. "I'm scared, Rich." _

_ Richie frowns slightly and his hand drops from Eddie's wrist to lace their fingers together. _

_ "I am too, but… we'll be okay if we stick together." _

_"Just— don't_ _let go," Eddie says._

_ The look on Richie's face is so genuine that it makes the tears in Eddie's eyes slip down his cheeks. _

_ "I won't." _

_ He turns and they keep walking, hands grasping each other's tightly. Eddie is panicking, trying to think of ways to stop Richie from dying. Now that they're connected by the hands, maybe he'll have a chance. He doesn't want to lose him now that he remembers their friendship. _

_ They enter the room and it's still mostly obscured to Eddie. A shadowy something is shifting on the other side, blurry tendrils moving strangely. He remembers the spike-like thing that killed Rich before and realizes that must be where it came from. _

_ The tendrils move more rapidly and Eddie knows this is it. He gathers all the willpower he has and forces himself to speak, to act. _

_ "Richie,  _ **_move_ ** _!" he says, pushing him sideways out of the way. _

_ Both keep their word and don't let go of their hands, which sends Eddie crashing to the ground with Richie. _

_ "Eddie, what—" _

_ Richie is still holding his hand when Eddie feels blinding pain strike the center of his lower back. There's a resounding  _ **_crunch_ ** _ as his vertebrae and pelvis snap. He gaps out a scream. Whatever impaled him wrenches out of his body soon after it enters. _

_ "Eddie!" Richie yells. _

_ He struggles to move him, but Eddie can't feel his legs anymore. There's distorted laughter that echoes around them. Richie manages to drag him a few feet away from the creature, leaving a smear of blood. _

_ Eddie's stomach feels like it's on fire, but it also feels sickeningly wet. Richie gingerly turns him over and holds him on his lap. A whimper escapes him as he sees the damage. His hand moves to try and hold Eddie's intestines in and Eddie finds it kind of strange how similar it is to the last time Richie died.  _

_ He fucked up, he knows. Richie is safe, though. Isn't that what he wanted? Safe or not, he looks distraught. _

_ "Eddie, stay with me," he says. "We'll get help, just keep your eyes open." _

_ "Rich…" he croaks. _

_ "Please, just… keep looking at me. It'll be fine, Eds." _

_ Eddie can feel himself slipping. The edges of his vision are darkening.  _

_ "... I'm glad I remembered you." _

_ "Eddie?" _

_ The world goes black. _

Eddie wakes up face-down on the floor of his room, gasping. His back aches like hell and the migraine is back. He coughs when something catches in his throat, the taste of iron filling his mouth.

"Shit," he wheezes.

His hand moves quickly to feel the part of his spine that was torn apart in the nightmare. It's sore, but intact. That's a small relief, but he's not in the clear yet.

Cautiously, Eddie sits up. His migraine pounds in protest as he reaches for a tissue to wipe his nose, not surprised when it comes away red again. He hazards spitting into the trash can and that comes out red, too.

The internet said nothing about recurring nightmares  _ actually _ hurting you. Eddie knows it's not a coincidence that his back hurts like it does, or that he's bleeding again.

_ Both times _ , he thinks,  _ both times I changed the nightmare to save Richie, I woke up bleeding. _

His migraine spikes at the thought of Richie and his vision swims with tears.

_ One thing at a time. First pain medication, then shower, then I'll think about him.  _

Eddie doesn't glance at the clock before unlocking and leaving his room. After last night, he feels like Myra knows his boundaries. Whether or not she'll respect them, he has no idea.

He locks the bathroom door and takes two ibuprofen from the medicine cabinet. His face appears in the mirror when he closes it and he almost doesn't recognize himself. Pale, disheveled… blood smeared under his nose and rimming the opening of his mouth. 

If Eddie didn't know any better, he'd say he really  _ did _ get impaled by a shadow monster. A week ago, he was worried that these nightmares were the beginning of a disorder of some kind, but now he's not so sure.

The hot shower helps soothe his back muscles, wash away the blood on his face. Wash away the nightmare. 

Richie sneaks into Eddie's thoughts again. How did he forget  _ Richie _ ? All those times they huddled together reading comic books or shared change to buy sweets at the general store… oh, and the  _ teasing _ . He had always gotten so flustered, so annoyed. They bickered constantly, he remembers with a small smile. 

He liked the attention. Not only that, but he liked being jokingly picked on— enjoyed being treated like all the other kids. It meant he was normal and  _ not _ fragile, like his mom always told him.

Forgetting Richie doesn't make sense, just like his nightmares. That's another mystery: how did he know what Richie looked like as an adult if he's never once ran into him?

_ Prophetic dreams. _

Eddie's heart sinks and the water suddenly feels uncomfortably hot on his back. He shuts the shower off and stands there in the steam for a moment before finally getting out to dry off.

Oh, that's right. He has to work today.

_ No big deal _ , he thinks.  _ You only had a vivid dream about dying and remembered a chunk of your childhood you didn't know you forgot. Plus the head and back pain. Yeah, work should be fine. _

Work  _ would _ be fine. He'll be able to get out of the house and away from Myra, just in case she decides to pry again. He can drown himself in numbers and claims, forget everything driving him crazy at least for a little while.

He goes out to lunch with Phil, one of his friends from work, that afternoon and they chat idly, having a few conversations about upcoming meetings and deadlines. Eddie listens to Phil talk about his tennis game over the weekend and asks questions. Maybe he could join, too. He’s always wanted to learn, and maybe once he leaves Myra, he’ll get started.

His eyes widen. The thought came so easily to him just now, leaving Myra. It doesn’t shock him; they’re not exactly the image of a healthy marriage. He’s not happy, he's just… settled. Of course, the idea of leaving her has always been there, but any time he considered it, part of him felt frozen. 

It’s routine, being with her. Familiar. Leaving his mother had been difficult, but he had done it. Leaving his wife would be similar, but he hopes it won’t be as hard.

“Are you okay, Eddie?” Phil asks.

Eddie snaps out of his thoughts.

“Yeah, just thinking,” he says. “Sorry, I’ve been really distracted lately.”

“I’ve noticed that.”

He feels self-conscious.

“Is it that bad?”

“No, you just don’t seem as focused as you usually are,” he pauses and then adds, “if you need to talk about it, I’m here, Ed.”

His heart thumps in his chest, blood rushing to his cheeks.

“Okay, well, it’s complicated,” he says.

He can’t mention the nightmares, that would be too much. Talking about Myra is off the table, too. His marriage is a touchy subject, especially since he often finds himself wishing he wasn’t married so he could maybe, just  _ maybe _ , go somewhere with Phil. Somewhere far away from here.

There  _ is  _ one thing bothering him that he could ask about. It’s worth a try.

“Do you remember any of your childhood? Like where you lived or who your friends were?”

Phil looks like the question takes him off guard.

“Hm… yeah, I do. Parts of it at least, some of it is a little hazy.”

“But you remember some details?” Eddie presses.

“Yes. I remember some of their names, and a few funny stories. Longer I think about it, the more I’m remembering, actually,” he stops, gives Eddie a questioning look. “What’s this all about?”

“I realized the other day that I don’t remember any of that stuff. I don’t remember any of my friends or even where I lived, or what school I went to. That’s really weird, right?”

Phil’s eyebrows furrow.

“That’s strange, yeah, but it’s not totally unheard of. Maybe something bad happened to you? Or your memory is bad, but I doubt that one.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says, thinking.

There  _ are _ memories there, he knows it. Some of them came flooding back when he remembered Richie, but there are more there. It’s like he’s swimming in open water but can only see four feet below him. There’s so much to see, to remember, but part of him feels something down there is waiting to devour him. The shadow.

“Don’t let it get to you too much,” Phil says, breaking the silence. “Sometimes forgetting happens for a reason.”

Eddie nods, but he disagrees. There’s a well of emotions inside of him that he can’t place memories to. Love and friendship. Family, too. He  _ did _ have friends, and they meant the world to him, he can  _ feel _ it. Forgetting who they were is a tragedy.

The rest of work goes fast. Phil gives him a wave when he leaves that Eddie returns with a smile. On the way home, he’s stuck in traffic downtown when he spots a book display in a window. His breath catches in his throat at the name there. Bill Denbrough. He stares at it for so long that he doesn’t notice the cars in front of him are moving. The person behind him honks their horn impatiently.

He jumps, tearing his eyes away from the books and keeps driving. 

_ Bill _ , he thinks.  _ I know that name. I know it. _

_ Ghosts. _

The word pops into his head and he feels himself sink further into that ocean of memory.

_ He thrusts his fists— _

Eddie takes his exit and stares at the road.

_ —against the posts— _

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“—and still insists he sees the ghosts,” he finishes.

Big Bill. Eddie smiles widely, letting out a small laugh. That’s right, he had a friend named Bill. He focuses on that thought, trying to capture the memories. Silver. Something about silver. The color, but also… a name.

He remembers a breeze in his hair and laughter, loud and joyful. The bikes, of course. Bill's bike was called Silver. In his mind, he can almost see them all again, his friends. The image is hazy, though, the full extent of the memory escaping him. There's more of them, he knows. He just can't remember them.

The rest of the drive home he spends thinking about his childhood. He does recall more about Bill, like his artistic ability or the fun games he used to come up with. They built a tiny dam once, Bill and him, when the rest of them were away.

_ We weren't all there yet. _

Eddie's eyes widen, knowing now those memories he can't recall are more important than he previously thought. They have a weight to them, a destiny.

He almost misses a stop sign and slams on the breaks. His heart beats wildly in his chest. No one's around to have seen his distracted driving, but that's not what has him on high alert.

Each of his friends he remembers— they feel like locks opening on a massive door. Behind it lies the culmination of their friendship; a powerful bond that connects all of them, blood and soul. Behind it also lies something else, something equally as powerful, but twisted. Eddie can sense it hiding in the blur of his memories, a shadow.  _ The _ shadow.

If he opens that door… 

Eddie comes back to reality, still idling at the stop sign. He takes a shaky breath and continues home, glad he's not too far away now. Having time alone with his thoughts is overwhelming at this point.

Myra is quieter than usual when he walks in the door. She doesn't get up from her chair, doesn't rush over to give him a kiss on the cheek. It makes his heart ache.

_ You deserve better _ , he thinks. _ I do too. _

Her head turns and she sends a glance his way.

"How was work, Eddie?" she asks.

"It was fine," he says, trying to sound lighthearted. "Phil and I had lunch. Did you have a good day?"

Myra's quiet for a moment.

"I watched The Doctors," she says, "and I started reading some of that book you got me last Christmas."

She didn't answer the question, he notices.

"Oh, that's nice. Do you like it?"

"I don't know, I didn't get very far."

The quiet between them stretches on, and if Eddie wasn't sure they weren't good for each other before, he's convinced now. He wants to talk with her, tell her why he's pushing her off, why her worrying has made him worse. It's like his mother all over again, after he broke his arm.

_ I broke my arm? _

More memories leak through the cracks. Yes, he  _ did _ break his arm. How, he doesn't remember yet. But he stood up to his mother. He told her that she was wrong about his friends being bad,  _ and _ about his medication.

_ Gazebos. _

Eddie gets a surge of energy. Now's a better time than any. He knows there's really no way to salvage his and Myra's relationship, but maybe he can try to make her understand. Maybe it will hurt her less then.

He walks over to where she is in her chair and sits down in his own, an end table between them. Her head turns, but she's looking at the floor, not him.

"Marty, I don't want to fight," Eddie says.

"It seems like you do," she says quietly. "Eddie, you've been so awful lately."

_ So have you. _

"Maybe I have been, but I want you to know why so we can… so we don't have to keep doing this."

He knows he's really talking about their marriage, but the fighting also has to go. At least until he can find the strength to leave.

"I know why, Eddie. You're sick," her voice cracks. "You're  _ sick _ and you won't let me help you."

"No, that's just it, I'm  _ not  _ sick. It's because… it hurts me when you say those things, did you know that?"

Her eyes widen and a few tears spill down her cheeks.

"Hurts you? I'm  _ helping _ you."

Eddie shakes his head.

"No, you actually— you  _ think _ you're helping, but it hurts. You worry a lot and… and you fuss over me so much that I feel like I'm a kid again."

_ A scared kid, clinging to his mother. _ He loved his mother, he did. That's why it was so hard to let her love go, even though it was smothering him.

"I fuss because I care. I don't want you getting sick," she says.

"I know, and that's okay to want that, but… worrying all the time— that's no way to live. Every time you do, it stresses me out and makes  _ me _ worry. It makes me sick with worry."

He feels like he's gotten through to her, just for a moment. Then she gives him a look that says  _ oh you poor sick man _ and shakes her head.

"People who aren't careful die young, Eddie. They get sick because they aren't diligent enough. I won't have you dying young, I  _ won't _ ."

Her hand reaches across the end table to try and touch his arm, but he pulls it away. She doesn't understand. She never will. If Myra had her way, he'd live in a bubble, safe, free from sickness… imprisoned.

She starts crying and he knows he's just made everything worse. 

“Myra, I’m… I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and he  _ is _ sorry.

Sorry he met her, sorry he married her, sorry he didn’t leave her sooner and spare himself the pain.

He just got home, but he feels like he needs to get out of the house. Maybe locking himself in his room again will do the trick. It’s cowardly, and unhealthy, but seeing Myra cry like this and knowing that he could have done more to save himself and her from their situation makes him want to hide.

Myra lets out a sob as Eddie stands up and he can’t look her in the eyes. His stomach is in knots. He goes to his room where he locks himself in and doesn’t come out again until he’s hungry. She put his food in the fridge, fixed nicely on a plate and wrapped with plastic wrap to keep it fresh. It’s the little things that make him realize she really  _ does _ love him. The kind of love that holds tight and doesn’t let go. The kind that smothers until you suffocate. A poisonous love.

Eddie heats the food up in the microwave and eats it alone at the table. Some parts of it are still cold, but he doesn’t pay it much attention. His thoughts are elsewhere.

When he finally goes to bed, he’s not thinking about Myra or the nightmare, but of Bill Denbrough. Big Bill and the friendship they once shared, a friendship he’s just now begun to remember.

Incredibly, he dreams.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Some are like water, some are like the heat  
> Some are a melody and some are the beat  
> Sooner or later they all will be gone  
> Why don't they stay young?"  
>   
> — "Forever Young" by Alphaville

It’s the same as before: the hatch, Richie holding his wrist, the desperation to save him. This time, though, he hears something else when he enters the cavern. Bill’s voice, screaming, shadow monster bearing down. Eddie panics and turns his attention away from Richie just long enough that when the monster’s claw comes down there’s no way to stop it.

He holds Richie as he dies and Bill’s voice returns, distraught.

_Richie!! Eddie, is he okay?! Rich!!_

There’s so much blood. Three times now, he couldn’t save Richie. He’s helpless and the pain in his chest is overwhelming. He presses a kiss to Rich’s forehead before everything fades and he’s falling, falling—

Eddie wakes up on the floor, shivering and wrapped in twisted bed sheets. He sits up too quickly and his head glances off the corner of his nightstand. Pain pulses through his skull and he knows then that he’s back in reality. Holding his hands to his head, he curls up against the bedframe and blinks back tears.

_Two nights in a row. It’s never happened two nights in a row._

His eyes dart around the darkness of the room, half expecting to see a shadow that shouldn’t be there lurking in a corner. He feels like he’s still there, in the cavern. The weight of Richie’s body in his arms, the smell of iron and old water, Bill screaming.

It takes Eddie almost an hour to stop shaking. He moves through the motions of getting ready like a zombie, thoughts racing through his head. The dreams happened a week apart each time, he realizes. They were consistent, up until he remembered Richie and Bill. 

_Like locks on a door._

He almost calls off work, but decides against it. Being alone at home with Myra again would be a mistake. It’s easy enough to function once he gets there, but the sensation of dread never goes away. All the nerves in his spine feel like live wires. Someone drops a pen and he jumps.

The drive home is uneventful. Eddie talks to himself on the way to dissuade his mind from thinking of any more childhood memories. He talks about work, about his feelings. When he runs out of things to say, he turns on the radio and sings along to anything he knows.

It’s almost too easy, distracting himself.

Myra is in the living room reading a book when he walks in. She doesn’t acknowledge him, he doesn’t acknowledge her. He gets changed into something more comfortable and takes one of his comics to the backyard. It’s a nice day and he needs some time in the sun.

The action seems familiar, and Eddie knows he must have done something similar with his friends a long, long time ago. Sunlight feels soothing on his skin. He loses himself in the colorful panels of the comic and only resurfaces when he hears birdsong.

The notes start short and slow, then speed into a singsong staccato. He lifts his gaze from the book and freezes when he sees it, perched alone on the edge of the bird bath.

A yellow cardinal.

His heart leaps in excitement. Slowly, he lowers the comic book and reaches into his pants pocket for his phone. The cardinal sings some more, then regards the bird bath with curiosity. Eddie lifts his phone and opens the camera, hoping that the bird will stay still. He frames it in the shot just as it locks eyes with him and he snaps a few pictures.

The cardinal lingers a moment longer, almost studying him, before taking off into the sky. Eddie lets out the breath he was holding. He looks at the pictures on his phone and smiles.

He doesn’t know much about birds, but he knows that yellow cardinals are rare as anything, especially around here. If he asks Stanley, he’ll know. Oh, and he’ll love to see the pictures—

Eddie’s grip on his phone loosens in shock and it drops into his lap.

_Stanley Uris._

The name returns to him with images of soft curly hair and bright smiles. He remembers laughter and strange humor, a book of birds and a pair of binoculars. Stanley. _Stan_.

Somewhere in the bowels of his mind, another lock comes undone.

That night, Eddie has the nightmare again. He ignores Bill’s screaming and gets impaled trying to save Richie. When he wakes up, his nose is bleeding and his head hurts so bad he has to call off work. 

He’s cleaning the blood off his nose in the bathroom when he remembers Ben Hanscom. The familiar sensation of a bloody nose, the tightness in his chest. They walked towards home together that day, the first day they met, and Ben told him to spill chocolate milk on his shirt.

_It will hide the blood. So your mom doesn’t freak out._

“See you later, alligator,” he mumbles to the mirror.

Eddie swipes at the tears on his cheeks, terrified at the speed he’s remembering things now. Terrified for when he goes to bed again tonight. He tries to calm himself by drinking tea later, feeling a twinge of guilt when he remembers that it was Myra who gave him that advice. It helps calm his nerves somewhat, but it also makes him tired. Sleep is a monster now, lying in wait to trap him in another vision of death.

Richie dies in the nightmare this time. Eddie holds him and brushes his hair from his face. He tells him it will be okay and presses a kiss to his cheek.

When Eddie wakes up, his pillow is soaked with tears and he cries for another thirty minutes before he’s able to get up and shower. 

Everything is starting to run together for him. How many times has he watched Richie die? How many times has _he_ died? He’s jumpy and on edge. If someone approaches him too quickly at work, his anxiety spikes and his throat feels like it’s going to close.

Eddie is terrified to go to sleep. He stays awake for as long as he can, sitting up in bed. At first, he just stares at the wall blankly, thinking about how different his life has become in the past few weeks. His performance at work has gotten worse, his wife barely talks to him, and his sleeping schedule is completely ruined beyond repair.

When his eyes start to droop, he reaches for his laptop, which he left sitting on the bed earlier. After watching Richie die in the dream again, Eddie searched his name on the internet in a fit of worry just to make sure he was still alive.

He opens the laptop and squints against the brightness of the screen, opening up a search window. Against his better judgement to ignore his curiosity, he types, ‘Bill Denbrough.’ A number of articles come up, along with a couple different books he’s written. He reads a few summaries and decides maybe, if he doesn’t feel dead tired, he’ll stop by the book store and pick one up.

Next, he types, ‘Stanley Uris.’ He scrolls past a couple of links, clicks through some of them. There’s a news story about someone of that name being appointed chief accountant at a firm in Atlanta. He clicks on it, and is greeted by a picture of him. His breath catches in his throat.

The man in the picture is smiling, his dark, wavy hair neatly styled. There’s a softness in his eyes that Eddie remembers well, on those days in the Barrens when the sun was shining and birds were singing— the days when Stan was most happy. Eddie finds himself smiling back at the photo, his heart aching. When was the last time he saw Stan? What had they said to each other?

What had any of them said to each other?

Eddie’s smile fades and he feels the want to look anything else up leave him. He had somehow forgotten his friends, the people he loved more than anything, even life itself. He would die for them.

_I have died for them,_ he realizes, thinking about the nightmare.

Fear floods him again and he closes his laptop, pushes it aside on the bed. He curls his knees up to his chest and holds them there, the darkness of his room ominous. The digital clock on his nightstand sheds red light onto the bed and it makes Eddie think of blood. He closes his eyes against it, and while his eyes are closed, exhaustion takes him.

He’s back in the cave. The nightmare repeats, but this time Eddie starts crying before Richie can walk very far. He holds Eddie and tries to console him, but something doesn’t feel right. A prickling sensation of dread makes its way up his spine and he finds himself turning Richie and pushing him away just as a giant spike blossoms out from Eddie’s chest. He bleeds, then dies in Richie’s arms.

Eddie’s back is on the floor when he comes to, and he almost chokes on the blood in his mouth. He coughs and sits up quickly, spitting some of it into the trash can by his bedside. His fingers grip the side of his bed, arms shaking as he goes into another coughing fit.

_This isn’t normal,_ he thinks. _Recurring nightmares in which you die and wake up actually bleeding are not normal._

For once in his life, he doesn’t want to go see a doctor about it. He’s not stupid; he knows if he goes to someone— _anyone_ —about this, they’ll think he’s delusional. There’s more to it than that, though.

Eddie can tell that things are escalating. At first, the nightmare only came once a week, now it’s been coming every night consistently. Every morning he wakes up bleeding, every night he goes to bed and sees Richie die, or dies himself. It’s a cycle. One that’s ramping up to something _big_. What exactly that thing is, Eddie isn’t sure, but he knows it has something to do with his memories returning.

_Like locks on a door_ , he thinks again, feeling his stomach churn.

Sooner or later, that door’s going to burst open, and whatever’s behind it will escape.

He spits more blood into the trash can and wipes his mouth with a tissue, frowning. If this continues, he’s not sure he’ll live to see the end of all this— whatever _this_ is.

Sighing, he glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s almost 4 am again and he has to work today. He already called off once this week, so calling off again would be a bad idea, he reasons. If he’s gone too much, someone is going to start asking questions, and he’s not very good at coming up with excuses that don’t include nightmares that fuck with his health.

So he showers, makes himself look as presentable as he can, takes some ibuprofen for his headache, and heads to work. He doesn’t realize he forgot to take his other supplements until he’s already at his desk. 

_Missing one day won’t kill me_ , he thinks, but he knows he’ll take them when he gets home.

The rest of his work day goes quickly. He manages to distract himself enough with paperwork that he has a few blissful hours of forgetting. Inevitably, though, the end of the day comes, and Eddie finds himself driving home again, alone with his thoughts.

He grips the steering wheel of his car, bites his lip. After a few minutes of silence, he caves and turns on the radio. It keeps him sane until he’s parked in the bookstore’s parking lot. He stares at the building, wondering if it’s even a good idea to pick up one of Bill’s books or if he’ll just be inviting more pain in. Something compels him to get out of the car and walk inside— whether it’s pure curiosity or something unfathomable beyond him, he’s not sure.

The bell above the door rings as Eddie walks in, making him jump slightly at the sudden noise. He’s been in this shop a few times before, but not enough to be familiar with its layout. Thankfully, Bill’s books are right by the window on a neatly organized display. A small smile tugs at Eddie’s mouth as he sees the sign, ‘Bestselling Horror’ above them.

_Big Bill really made it big,_ he thinks, and almost laughs.

His eyes glance over the titles, though one in particular piques his interest: _The Black Rapids._ He picks it up and leafs through a few pages, then flips to the back, spotting Bill’s biography and picture. Eddie stares at it for a moment, marveling at how he can still see the Bill he knew as a child in his features. He closes the book and tucks it under his arm, making his way towards the register.

He waits in line behind a few other customers, letting his gaze wander over some of the smaller items being sold near the counter. A plain deck of fifty-two cards catches his eye and he reaches out to pick them up, feeling the familiar weight of them in his hand.

_Go fish!_

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat.

_You’re awfully good at this game, Eddie. I’m going to win this time, though, just wait and see._

Firey red hair, falling in short locks to frame a freckled face. Bright smile, bright eyes, and a laugh that could make anyone feel warm. 

_Beverly Marsh._

That day they had been alone in the clubhouse, the only two who showed up. Beverly suggested they play cards after she found a deck sitting by the hammock. They debated on playing a few games: war, crazy eights— but they decided on go fish, since it was funny to say. Both of them were giving each other mischievous looks over their hands of cards, munching on some candy Eddie bought from the general store earlier that day and giggling like old friends.

It was a good day, and the memory of it hits Eddie all at once. The warmth of it fills him with a sense of peace, but the feeling doesn’t last long because he remembers something else, too. Something _awful_.

A bathroom _caked_ with blood. They helped her clean it, scrubbing the tile with towels until the bubbles stopped coming up red.

_So that’s why the bloody towel was familiar,_ Eddie realizes.

But why was her bathroom covered in _blood_?

“Sir?” the cashier’s voice pulls Eddie out of his trance.

He blinks, and he’s back in the bookstore, the deck of cards in his shaking hand, Bill’s book tucked under his arm.

“Oh. Sorry,” he says, stepping forward to carefully set both the book and the cards on the counter.

His heart is hammering in his chest. He knows it won’t be long now, until that last lock comes undone.

_There’s only one more. Lucky number seven._

He thanks the cashier and takes the bag when he’s done paying, making a beeline for the door. Part of him wants to look Bev up when he gets home, but he's hesitant. It feels like he’s already meddling in things he shouldn’t, though he doesn’t know why.

Against his better judgement, he looks her up anyway.

She’s Beverly Rogan now, a well-known fashion designer. He smiles when he sees her picture, but it drops suddenly when he sees her eyes. Eddie recognizes something in them. Exhaustion? Stress?

_Imprisonment._

The brightness in them is gone, he notices. It makes him close his laptop and let out a pained sigh. He can hear Myra walking down the hallway. The doorknob to his room moves, but he’s made it a habit to lock his door.

“Eddie? Dinner is ready,” she says. “Are you working? You shouldn’t be working so much, you’ll overwork yourself.”

“I’m not working,” he says, though he knows he shouldn’t have to explain himself to her.

“Unlock the door, Eddie. I hate when you do this,” she continues. “It makes me worry. What if something happens to you and I can’t get into your room to help?”

Eddie wants nothing more but to ignore her and stay in his room for the rest of the night, but he knows she won’t leave him alone. Having her at his door asking questions for too long will trigger his anxiety, too.

“I’ll be out in a minute to eat dinner,” he says. “I promise.”

“Okay, but please be quick about it,” Myra replies. “I don’t want your food getting cold.”

“Alright.”

He _does_ eat dinner with her. She asks a few questions, but stops completely when she gets nothing from him but non-committal noises and shrugs. Eddie feels detached, like he’s watching someone else’s hand stab broccoli with a fork. Like this isn’t his table, his dining room, his house.

None of it feels real.

For the third night in a row, he doesn't give Myra the usual kiss on the cheek goodnight. He doesn't tell her he loves her, because he's tired of telling lies. What he does is mumble a quick, 'goodnight' as he passes her in the living room. He locks the bathroom door while he gets ready for bed, and locks his bedroom when he's done.

He's so _tired_ that the moment his head hits his pillow, he falls asleep.

Then he dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "You've got a warm heart  
> You've got a beautiful brain  
> But it's disintegrating  
> From all the medicine"  
>   
> — "Medicine" by Daughter

This nightmare is more violent than the rest. He hears his friends screaming in the distance as Richie and him rush towards them, hand in hand. Eddie knows the steps to this dance: he knows when the fatal blow falls, and where it will hit. It's either Richie or him, and when the moment comes, Eddie doesn't have a second thought.

He pushes Richie out of the way and takes the spike through the stomach. For a horrible instant, he’s lifted into the air before suddenly being thrown downwards. The spike dislodges from his body and he hits the rock of the cavern so  _ hard _ he feels several bones break.

There's more distorted laughter. His friends are calling his name and crying. Richie holds him and all Eddie can do is look in his tear-filled eyes as the world around him fades.

He wakes up with his back against the floor of his room, gasping. Something lodges in his throat as he inhales and he sits up quickly, going into a coughing fit. His hand covers his mouth, his headache spiking with every spasm of his lungs. When he pulls his hand away, there's blood, and he's wheezing. He reaches to feel for his inhaler on the nightstand, terrified he'll pass out before he can grab it, but his fingertips find its familiar casing. It takes three puffs to make him feel like he isn't dying.

Eddie's hands are shaking and his head is pounding. He stares at the blood smeared on his hand, and now his inhaler. There's a noise down the hall that he recognizes as Myra's door opening and a new fear fills him.

There will be no avoiding her this time. He's trapped. 

The doorknob turning makes him jump and move to lean his back against the bed frame. Myra rattles the door and pulls on it a few times.

“Eddie?  _ Eddie _ ?!” she calls, voice shrill with panic. “Eddie, open the door!”

His hand is still shaking as he places his bloodied inhaler back on the nightstand. He slowly stands up, using the bed for support.

“Eddie,  _ answer me! _ ”

“I’m—” Eddie starts, but his voice catches in his throat and he has to stop and cough again. “I’m coming, hold on.”

“Please hurry, Eddie, you don’t sound well at all,” she replies.

He takes a shaky breath and starts to make his way towards the door, vision somewhat hazy because of the headache. There’s no way he’s well enough to face Myra right now, he knows that, but he doesn’t have much of a choice.

His hand hovers over the lock for an instant, dread pooling in his stomach.

“Eddie?” Myra asks again.

He takes the plunge and turns it. Myra must hear the lock come undone because she opens the door before Eddie can, and lets out a scream.

“You’re  _ bleeding _ !” she shrieks, reaching for him.

Eddie tries to flinch away, but he’s too slow. Myra grabs him by the arms and he’s surprised at the sudden disgust he feels at being touched by her.

“We have to get you to the hospital, Eddie—”

“I’m fine, Myra, it’s just a nosebleed—”

“It’s happened more than once, Eddie!  _ Hasn’t it _ ?” she questions. “That bloody washcloth in the trash, and how you’ve been acting lately… something is very  _ wrong _ with you.”

Eddie squirms slightly, trying to get her to let go of his arms. His head is pounding and he just wants to be left alone.

“I have it under control,” he says. “It’s fine. Please let go of me, Myra.”

Her eyes bore into him and he swears he’s thirteen again, staring down his mother after throwing his pills on the floor.

“You  _ don’t _ have it under control. You’ve been acting so  _ strange, _ and you haven’t been sleeping— you were looking up dying and recurring nightmares. Why didn’t you  _ tell me _ ? I could have taken you to the doctor sooner!”

Eddie feels something inside him break.

“I can’t do anything without you breathing down my neck,” he says.

Myra’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Let go of me,” he says, not bothering to repeat himself.

He can see the tears well up in her eyes.

“Eddie, you’ve been so  _ awful _ to me lately. I just want to help you.”

“You don’t help me, Myra. You  _ don’t _ .”

She starts to cry and her grip loosens on Eddie’s arms enough that he easily escapes by taking a step backwards.

“Eddie,  _ please _ —”

“I have to get ready for work.”

Myra wipes at her eyes and sniffles, expression growing more serious. He knows she’s realized her crying isn’t working on him this time.

“You’re  _ bleeding _ , Eddie, you can’t go to work.”

“I have to get to the bathroom. I have a headache,” he says.

Myra berating him is making it worse. He feels nauseous. His clean hand moves to pinch the bridge of his nose to try and deter the throbbing in his skull.

“Eddie—”

“ _ Myra _ ,” he interrupts, not hiding his exasperation. “Move.”

Her eyes widen and she looks like she wants to say something more, but her mouth closes into a tense frown. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief as she  _ finally _ steps out of the way. He quickly walks past her, making a beeline for the bathroom. The moment he gets inside, he locks the door. His hands are still shaking.

Eddie takes a shower and tries not to gag when the water at his feet tints pink with blood. He examines his stomach again just to make sure he's not mortally wounded. There's no puncture wound, but he  _ is _ sore there, which makes him feel incredibly uneasy. The dread in his chest hasn't left since he woke up.

He dries off, wraps himself in a towel, and leaves the bathroom. Myra isn't in the hallway waiting for him, which is a relief. His room looks like someone might have died: the bedsheets are on the floor, and there's blood on the edge of the nightstand and in the trash can. It makes him shudder. He turns his back to it while getting dressed.

Myra tries to stop him again when he leaves, but he holds his ground and steps off the porch with her yelling after him. It reminds him of his mother doing the same, when he left to meet his friends at the old house on Neibolt.

_ Why the hell did we go there? _

He feels sick again and decides not to think about it.

Driving to work is a nightmare. He's tense, gripping the steering wheel and getting annoyed at other drivers more than usual. His phone starts ringing and he answers it automatically on the car's dashboard, thinking it's from work.

"Edward Kaspbrak speaking," he says.

"Eddie,  _ please _ come back home. It isn't safe for you to be driving in your condition," Myra's voice says from the other line.

He grips the steering wheel tighter.

"Myra, I told you, I'm fine. Listen, I have a really important meeting today I have to get to. Okay?" he replies. "I'll see you when I get home."

He hangs up on her and glares in his rearview mirror at the car behind him. They're considering tailgating him, he can tell.

The phone rings again. He answers it.

"Hello, you're speaking to Edward Kaspbrak," he says.

Myra's voice answers him again.

"You hung up on me, Eddie. I was worried you got in an accident—"

Eddie rolls his eyes at the display on his dashboard as if she can see him through it.

"I didn't, but I  _ will _ get into an accident if you keep calling me while I'm driving," he says. "I have to get to this meeting—"

Another call pops up on the display. An unknown number, from Maine.

Seeing it makes Eddie freeze. The dread in his chest grows so rapidly he feels like he can’t breathe.

" _ Eddie _ ?" Myra asks.

"I have to go," he says, hanging up on her.

He answers the other call.

"Hello? Who’s this?"

"Eddie?" a familiar voice answers. "It's me, Mike."

"Mike," Eddie says, and he remembers.

_ Mike Hanlon. _

Rocks flying through the air. Eddie’s hand on Mike’s back, helping him walk out of the Barrens. Mike lifting Eddie carefully into the basket of his bike after he broke his arm. His soft smile, his comforting hugs. Mikey, who always knew just what to say to make you feel cared for, and loved.

Richie, Bill, Stan, Ben, Beverly, Mike, and Eddie.  _ The Loser’s Club. _

The last lock comes undone. 

Eddie runs the red light and drives into the intersection. There’s a powerful jolt and large  _ crash _ as a taxi car hits him, bringing both to an abrupt halt. His heart hammers in his chest, every cell in his body alive with adrenaline.

“ _ Eddie _ ?! You okay?” Mike questions over the phone, sounding panicked.

He is most certainly  _ not _ okay emotionally. Physically, he’s had worse.

“Yeah, I’m pretty good!” he says, glancing over just as the other driver gets out of their car. “ _ Shit. _ I, um… I have to go— what were you calling about, Mikey?”

_ And how do you remember me? _

Mike lets out a relieved sigh.

“You have to come back to Derry. The others, too,” he says. “We swore, remember?”

Eddie’s left palm burns with sharp pain. He winces and looks at it, confused, but the thin scar there reminds him. They made an oath, all of them. Bound by blood.

“I remember,” he says, still staring at his hand. “Have you called anyone else?”

“Just Big Bill,” Mike replies. “He said he’ll come.”

The other driver taps on Eddie’s window, looking more than a little furious. Eddie takes a risk and gives them a  _ hold on _ gesture.

“When do you need me?” he asks.

“Tomorrow. I’ll text you more details, but there’s space for all of you to stay at the Derry Townhouse.”

The driver outside is yelling and Eddie’s glad his windows are up.

“I’ll leave today,” he says, without thinking. “Long drive to Maine.”

“Okay, Eddie. I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Yeah, see you.”

“Drive safe! Goodbye.”

The call drops and so does Eddie’s heart, right into his stomach. It can only mean one thing, remembering everyone right before they all come together again. Those nightmares he had  _ were _ leading up to something big, and this is it.

It takes an hour to exchange insurance information with the taxi driver. He calls his work to let his boss know he's taking a week long vacation on short notice. The idea isn't received very well, but he gets the days off anyway. Eddie finds himself not caring if he loses his job. He can't stop thinking about Derry, about the Losers. His best friends.

Eddie waits while his car is towed and hitches a ride to the nearest rental service. He sits through another hour of paperwork to rent a car for a week, then he drives it back to Myra's house.

It's all come to this. Years of not feeling anything but obligation to his wife, years of playing a part, of questioning himself, of trying to think of what he would say  _ if  _ he ever got the guts to say it— and he's finally ending it by packing his bags and walking away.

He hopes it will be that easy.

Myra steps outside when Eddie closes the rental car's door. She looks surprised to see him, maybe even a little relieved.

"Eddie? Oh thank god, I'm so  _ glad _ you came back—" she blinks, eyebrows furrowing as she fully takes in the scene. "Where's your car?" 

"I got in an accident," he says simply.

She's so shocked that Eddie is able to walk past her on the porch and head into the house without issue. That doesn't stop her from following him inside moments later.

"An  _ accident _ ? Are you injured? How did it happen?" she interrogates.

"I'm fine, and I was on the phone with a friend," he answers.

Eddie makes his way to his room and opens the double doors of his closet. Myra follows him.

"A friend— Eddie what are you doing? You should be resting."

He doesn't answer and grabs the two large suitcases he usually takes on business trips, dragging them out.

"You're not going on a trip, are you?  _ Eddie _ ."

"I am, actually," he says, setting the suitcases on his bed.

He unzips and opens them before heading back to the closet to grab a few hanger’s worth of polo shirts.

“You  _ can’t _ ! You’re sick  _ and _ you just got into an accident,” Myra says. “We need to get you to the hospital.”

Eddie starts taking the polos off their hangers and folding them, stacking them neatly inside one of the suitcases. Then he goes back for more.

“I’m leaving, Myra,” he says. “Nothing you say can stop me. This is something I have to do.”

He’s too busy folding shirts to see her expression, but she’s quiet for a few good minutes.

“Eddie… I can’t believe how  _ awful _ you’re treating me,” she finally says, voice thick with tears. “You can’t leave, I’ll be  _ sick  _ with worry. Please stay.  _ Please _ , for me, Eddie-bear.”

The nickname makes his skin prickle, as if his whole body is rejecting it. He makes a face and grabs a few more polos from the closet. It’s getting close to being empty.

“I can’t stay. I have to go,” he says. “I  _ want _ to go.”

He makes his way to the dresser and starts pulling out pants by the armful, setting them neatly in the other suitcase. Over the years, he’s learned the best way to stack clothes in a travel bag so that there’s room for more.

"You want to go?" she repeats slowly, the realization sinking in. "Why are you packing so much? How long are you leaving for?"

There it is. No turning back.

Eddie stops stacking clothes and sighs. His back is to her.

_ Just say it. Say it, and you'll be free. _

He takes a breath to steady the racing of his heart, then makes the leap.

"Myra, I'm not coming back. I'm leaving you."

The room is dead silent. Eddie doesn't dare turn to look at her, for fear that he'll see his own mother again. Sobbing and begging for him to stay. Three times he gave in. He refuses to make the same mistake again.

Myra is the first to break the silence after a few minutes. 

"Leaving me? _Leaving_ _me_?"

"Yes. Leaving you."

His hands are shaking again. He goes back to packing to distract himself from his rising anxiety.

"Why?" Myra asks, and he can tell she's crying. "Oh, Eddie,  _ why _ ? All I've done is care for you, how could you do this?"

_ It's not caring when you hurt me. It's not love when you constantly smother me and try to convince me I'm sick. _

It's what he  _ wants _ to say, but nothing comes out. He starts grabbing shoes from the rack in the closet, trying to keep his breathing steady.

"Eddie, I thought you  _ loved _ me? This doesn't make any sense, it has to be your sickness talking. You're exhausted from not getting enough sleep."

That makes him stop again, but this time he looks at her. She  _ does _ look like his mother, but he knows that the image belongs to a memory, a ghost. He has no obligation to Myra. Their marriage was always nothing but a signed paper and two rings.

He lets out a sigh of relief as he realizes this is the last time he'll have to endure her questions.

"That's just it, Myra… I don't love you."

Myra lets out a breath, like the wind’s been knocked out of her. There’s silence again and Eddie looks away from her to start setting pairs of his shoes in the top section of his suitcases.

“You’re delusional,” she finally says. “You’re not feeling well, and it’s making you say things that aren’t true.”

"If I wasn't telling the truth, I wouldn't be packing right now."

Eddie moves back to his closet and looks it over. He's not coming back, everything he wants to keep has to go. His eyes lock onto his pair of best work suits, hanging pristinely inside clothing bags.

Myra speaks again and he almost flinches. He's so  _ tired _ of that voice.

"Your anxiety is acting up, Eddie. You're just packing because you feel trapped by these  _ nightmares _ you've been having."

Eddie sighs. Those suits were expensive. He grabs both hangers and brings them to his bed to fold. Wrinkles are something he can worry about later.

"Actually, Myra, I feel trapped by you."

He lays the suits in the luggage on top of his pants and pushes down on them. With the help of the straps inside, they just barely fit. That will leave enough room for his undergarments and laptop in the other suitcase. His comic books, too.

"You're  _ sick _ , Eddie.  _ Very _ sick."

Myra is fully sobbing now, making pathetic hiccups and sniffles. Her manipulation tactic, he knows.

Instead of feeling guilty, Eddie just feels  _ angry _ . He turns to look at her.

"No, I'm not.  _ You're  _ sick for treating me like this. Like I'm weak, like I can't do  _ anything _ for myself. The only sick  _ I _ am,  _ Myra _ , is sick of your fucking  _ bullshit _ ."

She stops mid-sob, eyes going wide. He thought her reaction would make him feel better, but it doesn’t. It makes him sad, makes him want to leave so he never has to see her face this distraught again. Her face, which looks so much like his mother’s.

He turns and heads back to his dresser, grabbing as many pairs of socks and underwear as he can fit in his arms from the top drawer. His eyes sting and hot tears slip down his cheeks, though he’s not entirely sure  _ why _ . He’s upset that this is what his life has become. He’s angry that it took him this long to have the courage to leave. He’s scared to go back to Derry, scared to drive there alone with his thoughts.

Myra doesn’t speak. Eddie tucks his undergarments into the suitcase, swiping at his tears with his wrist. He walks to the other side of the bed, finding his laptop half under some sheets and the charger discarded in a pile on the floor. They both miraculously fit on top of the polos, when he positions them just right. 

Eddie remembers something and moves to the plastic bag on top of his dresser. He pulls out  _ The Black Rapids _ and the deck of cards, a small smile tugging at his lips. He’ll have to show Bill and Bev when he sees them. They fit in the suitcase too, but the book is a little snug. He hopes it won't rip any pages.

"Eddie…"

His eyes glance towards the two  _ ThunderCats _ issues he left sitting on the table by the window. Those he  _ has _ to bring to show Richie. He makes his way over and picks them up, frowning at how little else is on the table. A fake plant (Eddie was never good at keeping them alive), a few old statistics textbooks (from college, he hasn't read them since), and the watch Myra bought him years ago. He picks up the watch to inspect it, but sets it back down.

She can keep it.

" _ Eddie _ , answer me."

He doesn't. Instead, he goes back to his suitcase and weighs his options. An idea strikes him and he opens his laptop just enough to slide the old comics between the screen and the keyboard before closing it again. That way, they won't bend.

His suitcases are packed, he realizes. All he has left is his toiletries. Eddie closes one suitcase and zips it shut. The other gives him some grief, but he manages to push down enough that the zipper does the rest of the work.

Myra's crying is still audible. He's irritated at the phantom twinge of guilt he feels at the sound. Years of the same thing conditioned him to feel sorry, to give in.  _ Not this time _ , he vows. His desire to see his friends is greater than any power she might still hold over him.

" _ Please, _ " Myra chokes out.

Eddie goes back to his closet and pulls out the duffle bag he bought a year ago on a whim. For tennis, he remembers. Just in case he  _ did _ ever go with Phil to one of his games. His heart sinks slightly. He won't be seeing much of him anymore. Not like it matters anyway, he never let him get too close. They're just coworkers. That's all Eddie ever let them be.

He sighs and walks past Myra, who doesn't move, leaving his room to head for the bathroom. Most of the medicine cabinet goes into the bag. Pain medication for headaches. His anxiety meds. Band-aids, nasal spray, antiseptic ointment, gauze...

For a reason he can't fathom, he grabs the heavy duty first aid kit from the closet. He assumes it might have something to do with the bloody bathroom he remembered, but the thought vanishes almost as soon as he thinks of it. His toothbrush gets thrown in the trash and he packs a new one that's still in the packaging. He places his shampoo and conditioner in the side zipper pocket, along with his deodorant and shaving supplies. Hair gel, too.

Eddie triple checks the bathroom for anything he missed before he closes the bag and slips it over his shoulder. Myra's in the hallway when he walks back towards his room, though she doesn't get in the way.

"Please stop this, Eddie. You're making a reckless decision."

He keeps up the silent treatment and walks up to the suitcases on the bed, taking a handle in each hand. They're so heavy when he pulls them off the bed that he grunts and almost drops them. It's impressive how much he managed to pack, but it's also sad. Five years of his life and he owns so little that it fits into three bags. This place was never his home, he thinks. It was always meant to be temporary.

The suitcases make noise as Eddie half-drags them along the floor back out into the hallway. Why he didn't buy ones with wheels, he doesn't know, but he sure regrets it. Myra follows behind him down the hallway.

"You can't be serious about all this, Eddie. It doesn't make  _ sense _ ."

Eddie sighs.

"None of this makes sense," he finally says. "That's why I'm leaving."

"I just don't understand you, we were fine until a few months ago when your sickness started—"

"We  _ weren't _ fine, Myra, that's the whole thing. I've always felt this way, I've just been too much of a coward to say it."

He makes it to the living room and drags his suitcases past the chairs. The door is so  _ close _ .

Myra has started crying again, though he's not sure she ever stopped completely. 

"What am I going to  _ do _ ? I can't be here alone, I  _ can't _ ! And I  _ love _ you Eddie, please stay with me."

"You'll be fine without me. You'll move on."

Eddie sets one of the suitcases down and opens the front door. When he picks it back up, he turns his head to look at her.

"My divorce lawyer will contact you in a week or two," he says. "Don't worry about losing the house, you can keep it."

" _ Eddie— _ "

He turns away and steps outside, feeling lighter despite the heaviness of his bags. They drag down the few stairs to the driveway and he sets them by the trunk. It's somewhat of a struggle loading the bags into the car, but he manages. When he closes the trunk, Myra is making her way to the driveway, face streaked with tears. She looks angry. 

"You're  _ not _ leaving me! I won't let you!"

_ You wouldn't leave your mommy all alone, would you Eddie-bear? You'll break my heart. _

Eddie feels his anxiety rising as he makes his way to the driver’s side door and gets in. She follows and stands by the passenger window. He locks the doors on reflex.

"You can't do this to me! Eddie!!"

_ Why would you do this to me? Don't you care about my feelings, Eddie? _

He starts the car and backs up out of the driveway. Myra follows after him for a moment, but in the end she just stands there, crying and yelling his name. It's messy, it's  _ awful _ . He watches her disappear in the rearview mirror and doesn't pull over until he's a good fifteen minutes away.

His hand is shaking as he reaches for his phone and opens his maps app. The screen is blurry and he blinks, tears spilling down his cheeks. Five years. He wasted five years of his life on Myra, and he has no idea what happens next. Maybe his friends can help, but he has to get to them first.

Eddie swallows his tears and wipes at his eyes, typing the address of the Derry Townhouse into the app. He places his phone in the cupholder and the robotic voice reads off directions. All his actions feel automatic, like he's not in control of himself. Is he in control of anything anymore? Was he  _ ever _ in control?

About two hours into his trip, the full weight of what happened hits him. His throat starts to feel tight with anxiety, and he knows if he doesn't talk to someone it will only get worse. Against his better judgement, he picks up his phone, looking between the screen and the road.

He calls Mike's number from earlier and hits the speakerphone button, placing the phone back in the cupholder as it rings.

"Please," he says to himself. " _ Please _ pick up, Mikey."

The phone rings two more times.

"Eddie?" Mike says.

_ Thank fuck. _

"Yeah, hey Mike," he says. "You, um… you busy right now?"

"Not at the moment… are you alright?"

"I—  _ no _ , actually. No, Mikey. I'm about to have a panic attack."

"Okay, breathe, Eddie. Is this about me calling earlier?"

"No, it's— well, yes kind of, but it's also different."

"I'm here to listen, Eddie. As long as you need."

Eddie lets out a shaky sigh and his eyes sting with tears again. Good old Mike. He could always count on him. God, he missed him.

He grips the steering wheel tighter to try and keep his hands from shaking so much.

"Okay, well, I'm married. Don't know if you knew that or not," he starts.

"I know."

Right, he must have kept tabs on him if he knew his number in the first place.

"I hated being married."

"Oh. That, I didn't know."

"Yeah, and I just left her. Like, for good. Packed all my shit and walked out."

"Do you feel better now that you left?"

"Yes. Fuck, yeah, I do but it's— I don't know what's next. I don't know what to do, and I'm panicking."

"Eddie, listen, you don't have to think too far ahead. Just think of right now."

"Yeah, okay. Right now. Sure."

"What are you doing right now?"

"Driving," Eddie says, then pauses before quickly adding, "also you're on speaker phone. I'm not risking another accident."

" _ Another _ accident?" Mike sounds alarmed.

Shit, he shouldn't have said that.

"It's nothing. The point is I'm driving and I'm freaking out."

"Okay, Eddie. I can stay on the line with you and talk if it will help."

Eddie's heart clenches.

"You sure? You're not busy?"

"I'm not busy. Even if I was, I'd still help. I love you, Eddie. You're one of my best friends."

Tears sting Eddie's eyes again. How had he forgotten all of this? He loves Mike, he knows it as well as anything,  _ sure _ of it, and he loves the others, too. All his friends, his  _ family _ , who he'll be seeing again tomorrow.

"Thanks, Mikey. I— I love you too," he says, voice cracking.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm a little better, actually. Thinking of seeing you guys again helped."

"That's right, we'll all be together again soon."

He watches the road quietly for a moment, taking note of the highway marker.

"Did you get ahold of the rest of them after you called me?" he asks.

"I did. They'll all be here by tomorrow."

The confirmation relaxes his anxiety somewhat.

"Good. I missed us. The Losers."

Mike's quiet, and Eddie thinks the call may have dropped but his voice comes through the speaker again.

"You remember that? The Loser's Club?"

That gives Eddie pause. So Mike  _ does _ know something about the forgetting. Except, he can't tell him the truth about the nightmares, about remembering. It would worry him, and he can't risk Richie finding out. Not yet, at least. If prophetic dreams are real, he might be in danger. From what exactly, he can't pinpoint.

_ Blood on the bathroom floor. _

His eyes widen and he feels his heart begin to pound again.

"Eddie? You there?" Mike prompts.

"Oh— sorry, yeah. I remember the Loser's Club, it just kind of came to me."

"Don't think too much about it all at once okay, Eddie? Might be too much."

"It might be, you're right."

"You're feeling better, then? No more panic attack?"

Eddie realizes he got so distracted talking to Mike that it calmed him down. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little sick to his stomach, but his panic level is low enough that he thinks he'll survive the rest of the trip.

"Yeah, no more panic attack. Thanks, Mike."

"Sure, Eddie. Any time."

"I'll see you soon, then?"

"Tomorrow. I'll let text you the details. We're all meeting for dinner."

"Okay. I'll see you then."

"Take care, Eddie. Be seeing you."

Eddie's phone beeps as the call ends and he finds himself alone again, nothing but highway ahead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "It comes in waves  
> I close my eyes  
> Hold my breath  
> And let it bury me  
> I'm not okay  
> And it's not alright  
> Won't you drag the lake  
> And bring me home again, home again?"  
>   
> — "Drown" by Seafret

The rest of the drive is mostly uneventful. He stops for lunch when he realizes he completely skipped breakfast and there's a slowdown near Portland that adds thirty more minutes to his trip, but he's used to traffic. By the time Eddie reaches the outskirts of Derry, it's three o'clock in the afternoon and he's exhausted. 

Things start coming back to him, though. As he enters town, he sees the Derry Home Hospital to his right and remembers his mother driving him there while he clutched his broken arm and cried. Not because of the pain, but because he knew after that he wouldn't be able to see his friends anymore.

_ You aren't to see them anymore, Eddie. They'll get you killed. They're  _ **_bad_ ** _ friends. _

The app on his phone tells him to turn left on Main Street, but he reaches over and turns it off. He decides to take a roundabout way and stay on Up-Mile Hill.

He passes the Aladdin movie theater, boarded up, windows broken. It makes his heart sink. They used to excitedly pile into the seats, sharing popcorn and drinks. Once, they snuck into a horror movie, which gave Eddie nightmares for a week.

_ If my ma finds out I saw this, she's gonna flip. _

_ Your mom doing a flip? Jesus, I'd pay money to see that. Screw the movie, take my allowance and let's go! _

_ Shut up, Richie. _

_ Aw, c'mon, Eds. It was funny. _

Eddie smiles to himself and keeps driving. It  _ was _ funny. He'll be seeing Richie tomorrow, he realizes. His heart skips and it startles him.

"He's probably still a pain in the ass," he says to no one. "If his comedy is anything to go by."

He laughs softly, then feels like crying when he remembers all the times he's seen the light leave Richie's eyes.

" _ Fuck _ ," he breathes.

_ The nightmares aren't real. They aren't, and I won't let them be. _

He passes the library, McCarron Park, the second hand store, and the Costello Avenue Market. Everything looks just like he remembers it, only more faded and empty. It's strange, how quickly Derry returned to his memory. A day ago he forgot it existed, but now he can navigate its roads as if he never left. Maybe part of him never really did.

His car rolls to a stop at the corner of West Broadway and Kansas. Eddie lingers there a while, the street empty enough that no other cars are waiting to get by. Ahead, he can see Memorial Park and the old Standpipe, but it’s the birdbath that catches his eye. It’s eerily similar to the one he bought for the yard a few years ago.

_ Stan watched birds there _ , he thinks.  _ He saw something else there, too, didn't he? _

Eddie feels like he's being watched and looks out his window. It's nothing but trees, but he knows them well. Beyond them lies The Barrens, along with so many memories that Eddie almost gets a headache. He looks back to the birdbath, the dread in his chest growing.

He bites his lip and makes a left onto West Broadway. The houses there look familiar, and he remembers he used to walk this way to get home. Part of him wonders if his house is still around. It  _ has _ been twenty-seven years.

_ Another detour won't hurt. I have time. _

Eddie's car passes the corner he and Ben parted at all those years ago and he smiles. He hopes the years have been kind to him. For all the losers too, he hopes.

Remarkably, the house is still there, though in much worse shape. He vaguely remembers his mother having trouble selling it so soon after the murders.

His heart drops into his stomach.

_ Murders. There was a string of missing children and murders that summer. _

The door in the back of his mind slowly creaks open, shadow lurking. Eddie knows he's done it now, thinking too much. It's hard to stop once he's started, though, and part of him knows the murders are only the beginning.

There was something else, something so awful it didn't have a name.

_ It. _

Images of glowing eyes and sharp teeth flash through his mind, fear filling his chest. His lungs feel like they’re going to explode and he can’t catch his breath fast enough. He reaches for his emergency inhaler in the cupholder, but his hand touches empty air.

This is a rental car. The inhaler is still in  _ his _ car, back in New York.

He  _ forgot _ his inhaler.

Panic sets in and Eddie starts driving again, knowing exactly where he needs to go, what turns to take. He tries some breathing exercises on the way, but every time he gets remotely close to breathing normally, the image of those  _ eyes _ comes back to him.

He remembers screaming, and distorted laughter. The same laughter he’s heard in his nightmares. His hands are shaking so badly he has to grip the steering wheel tight enough that his knuckles turn white. 

His car practically screeches to a halt when he reaches Center Street Drugstore. The parking job is haphazard and he  _ knows _ it is, but he can’t risk waiting any longer than he already has. It feels like he’s suffocating with fear. He gets out of the car and locks it, then walks as quickly as he can to the doors.

The familiar bell rings when he enters, and he feels like he’s thirteen again, coming to pick up his prescriptions. Nothing has changed in twenty-seven years. All the shelves are still in their same places, the lights are still so bright Eddie has to squint until his eyes adjust. He approaches the counter and freezes. Mr. Keene looks back at him. Eddie feels his lungs constrict.

Memories come flooding back.

_ He finds his mother in the basement of the drugstore, strapped to a table. _

_ “Eddie, please help me!! He’s going to infect me, Eddie please!” _

_ He struggles to undo the bindings, but his hands are shaking and he can’t breathe. _

_ “He’s coming, hurry!!” _

_ Eddie glances over towards the shape on the other side of the room. It’s taking lumbering steps towards them, gurgling and wheezing. He knows what It is, he knows what It’s capable of. The fear in his chest is so overwhelming he thinks he might die before the leper even reaches him. _

_ His mother is sobbing. He gets one of the restraints off and for a second, he feels relieved, but he jumps at another loud noise. Wide-eyed, he looks towards the leper and realizes with dawning horror that It’s free of Its restraints, too. _

_ “I— I can’t get you out. I’m sorry, mommy,” he says. _

_ “Eddie, don’t! Please!” _

_ “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry mommy—” _

_ The leper lurches towards them and Eddie screams. He turns and bolts out of the room, crying. His mother’s voice travels down the hallway after him. _

_ “I knew you would abandon me, Eddie! I always knew!” _

_ He feels guilty, and awful, but he can’t face the leper, not again. Not after Neibolt. How many times can he get away before It finally gets him? _

_ Eddie rushes up the stairs and into the main pharmacy where _

Mr. Keene stares at him.

“You alright there? You don’t look too well, you might be comin’ down with something,” he says.

Eddie’s eyes are wide.

“I’m not— I need an inhaler,” he says.

Mr. Keene squints his eyes.

“Oh… do you have a prescription?”

“I don’t know if… if you remember me, but I used to come here all the time as a kid. You might still have my records, I’m Eddie Kaspbrak.”

His eyebrows raise and he smiles in a way that makes Eddie’s skin crawl.

“Kaspbrak... yes, I remember. You’re Sonia’s kid,” he says. “How’s she doing?”

The mention of his mother reminds Eddie of her screaming and he has to bite his lip to keep himself calm.

“She’s… she died a few years back.”

“Sorry to hear. I’ll get your prescription.”

Mr. Keene shuffles to the room behind the counter and disappears into it. Eddie’s eyes slowly glance over at the basement door, wondering if It’s still lurking down there.

_ What is It? What happened? _

He remembers some of Neibolt now. Seeing the leper, falling through the floor, breaking his arm. The rest is more blurred, but he remembers his friends around him, protecting him.

Eddie hears crinkling and looks back at the counter. Mr. Keene is standing there, holding out a bag with a prescription on it.

“One HydrOx inhaler,” he says, letting out a sigh. “That’ll be fifty dollars even.”

He’s not supid. He  _ knows _ he’s being taken for his money. Having his inhaler has always been a crutch, but it  _ did _ help. It didn’t soothe his lungs, but it helped dull his anxiety. As long as he believed the inhaler helped, it did. 

Being back in Derry is making him worse. He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, leafing through the cash he keeps on hand just in case. Ironically, there’s a crisp fifty dollar bill in there. He doesn’t remember when he got it.

With a forced smile, he hands the bill to Mr. Keene, who takes it with a nod. He glances at Eddie and squints his eyes again.

“What’s that?” he asks.

Eddie makes a face, confused.

“What’s what?”

“There, on your face.”

He points and Eddie feels like a bug under a magnifying glass.

“Oh, it’s just a mole,” he says.

Mr. Keene leans in and pinches his cheek, squinting more. Eddie freezes, horrified.

“Could be cancer, you should get it checked.”

Cancer. He remembers his mother hysterically coating his face and arms in sunscreen to make sure he didn’t get skin cancer. She was always frantic about it, ever since it took his father from them. For all her panic, she died of it too, in the end.

Eddie pulls himself away from Mr. Keene’s grasp, feeling more than a little shaken. He hasn’t even checked into his room yet and he’s already tired of Derry. No, not tired,  _ terrified  _ of it.

“Thanks for the prescription, Mr. Keene,” he says. “Have a nice day.”

He turns before the old man can say anything else and walks out of the store, grimacing as the bell rings again. That noise will haunt his dreams, he’s sure of it. Along with the god  _ awful _ distorted laughter of the shadow creature, of It.

His car is still in front of the store. Thankfully, there’s no parking fine under the windshield wiper. Eddie’s not surprised; the police in Derry aren’t good for much. He remembers kids going missing one after the other, and the investigation going nowhere. At the end of it all, they blamed Henry Bowers.

_ Fuck. Bowers. _

The name still strikes fear in him, even after all these years. He hopes he’s in the ground somewhere, rotting. Otherwise, he hopes he’s far away from Derry, behind bars.

Eddie gets into his car and places the prescription bag in the passenger seat. All that panic to get an inhaler and he doesn’t even need it at the moment. He sighs. 

The Derry Townhouse is a hundred feet behind him. He could keep the car parked here and just walk over, but being parked so close to the drugstore bothers him. If he never walks into that place again, it will be too soon. He’s had enough of those aisles and Mr. Keene to last a lifetime.

He pulls out of the parking spot and glances around at the street. There’s no cars, and he’s too impatient to drive all the way around, so he makes a U-turn and leaves the drugstore in his rearview mirror.

The parking lot at the Townhouse is empty except for one car, which he assumes is the clerk’s. He slips his toiletry bag over his shoulder and struggles to haul his suitcases across the lot and into the building, but he manages. 

He sets the suitcases down with a  _ thump _ in front of the main desk, glancing expectantly at the clerk. They're slouched in a chair, reading a book.

"Can I help you?" they say, not looking up.

"I have a reservation under Kaspbrak. Edward Kaspbrak."

They shift in the chair and trade the book for a clipboard from the desk, flipping through papers. Eddie thinks it's outdated, not having a computer system. It's Derry, though, so he supposes outdated makes sense.

"Have an Eddie Kaspbrak here. Room six is yours."

The chair squeaks as they get up and move to the wall of keys behind them.

"There's a shared bathroom between you and room five," they say, handing him the key. "If you need anything, call the front desk. Numbers are on a list by the phone."

Eddie nods and takes the key, sliding it into his jacket pocket.

"Thanks," he says.

The clerk hums in reply, their attention already back on the book they were reading. Eddie waits a moment before speaking again.

"Don't I need to pay for the room?" he asks.

"Sheet says it's already been paid for."

_ Mike _ , he thinks. He'll have to thank him later. 

His conversation with the clerk isn't going anywhere else, judging by the way their face is buried in the book. Eddie picks up his suitcases again and heads for the stairs.

By the time he gets to his room, unlocks it, and sets his bags down, he's exhausted. The bedside clock reads 5:18 PM. Dinner with the rest of the losers isn't until tomorrow. If he takes a nap now, he can probably order room service around seven.

Eddie locks his door from the inside and slips off his shoes. He makes his way over to the bed and lays down on top of the sheets, realizing he's still wearing his business suit.

_ If I nap in this, it's going to get wrinkled,  _ he thinks, then promptly falls asleep.

_ When Eddie's eyes open, he's in the cave again. Richie's hand is gripping his wrist and his heart jumps into his throat. _

**_Not again_ ** _ , he thinks.  _ **_Not this time._ **

_ He turns his wrist in Richie's grasp and interlaces their fingers. All the strength he has goes into pulling them both to halt. There's a sharp pain in Eddie's temple as the usual headache starts up. _

_ "Stop. We have to stop," he says. _

_ Richie turns, eyebrows creasing. _

_ "What d'you mean, stop?" he replies. "We have to  _ **_go_ ** _." _

_ He tugs Eddie's hand, but he barely moves. _

_ "No, we can't go out there, Rich. We'll die." _

_ Richie turns to face him, taking his other hand in his, too. _

_ "Eds. Listen to me. We have to be brave, okay? They need us," he says, and Eddie can see his eyes are brimming with tears. "Losers stick together, come on." _

_ Eddie opens his mouth to protest, but Richie's already turning and running, pulling him along. He doesn't have the strength to fight him. _

_ The ominous flashing green light at the end of the tunnel grows steadily closer. There's screaming as they break out of the cave and into the cavern. Eddie feels his heartbeat stutter and pound rapidly. _

_ He sees everything clearly for the first time since the nightmares started. _

_ Towering in the center is a horrifying beast. Its legs are spider-like, torso rising into the silver frills and bright orange puffs of circus attire. The head is that of a clown's, mouth wide with an impossible amount of teeth. _

_ Eddie's skull explodes with more pain as the door in his mind bursts wide open with memories. He gasps, letting go of Richie's hand to hold the sides of his head.  _

_ "Shit! Eddie, are you—" _

_ There's screaming from the other side of the room and the beast laughs. Eddie looks up and sees It bearing down on Bill and Mike. Richie shifts beside him and picks up a rock from the cavern floor. _

_ "Hey, fuckface!" he calls, throwing it. _

_ The rock bounces off It's side. It's huge head turns, glowing yellow eyes focusing in their direction. The rows of teeth begin to split. Eddie remembers all of Neibolt now; he knows what comes next. He looks at Richie. _

_ "Don't look at It!" he yells. "Don't look into the deadlights!" _

_ Richie turns to meet his gaze. He opens his mouth to speak, but Eddie doesn't hear. _

_ The spike impacts just under his ribcage with enough force to knock the breath out of him. Searing pain explodes through his body, throbbing with the beat of his heart. _

_ Richie screams his name. It laughs. _

_ Eddie tries to breathe but it feels like his lungs aren't holding in air anymore. He wheezes. _

_ "Poooooor little Eds…" It taunts. "Never could catch your breath, could you?" _

_ His feet leave the ground as It begins to lift him. He can feel his ribcage straining against the rest of his organs. Something inside him cracks and he cries out. Richie tries to grab his hand, but he's out of reach, fingertips just brushing Eddie's. _

_ "Eddie!" he sobs. "No!" _

_ It leans closer, face a mass of grinning teeth. _

_ "Especially in front of deeaaar Richie," It says. _

_ Eddie tries to breathe again and coughs, blood spilling from his mouth, running down his chin and neck. Black dots start appearing in his vision. He knows he doesn't have much time left. _

_ "You'll die if you try," It says. _

_ He knows Its talking about his nightmares, about saving Richie. _

_ The spike in his chest rapidly withdraws with a spray of blood, and Eddie crashes to the ground. He expects his head to hit rock, but it doesn't. _

_ "Eddie— fuck, Eds, can you hear me?" Richie asks. _

_ Eddie feels his hand press on the wound to keep pressure. He flinches, which makes the pain worse. Richie is holding him, he realizes with a small amount of relief. He thought he would die alone this time.  _

_ "Richie…" he says, and it's so quiet that he's not sure Richie hears him. _

_ "I'm here. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." _

_ There's so much Eddie wants to say, but his lungs don't have enough air. _

_ "Richie, I—" _

_ He wheezes and coughs up more blood. Richie must realize that he's a lost cause because his hand moves from Eddie's wound to his cheek. _

_ "Hey. Eds, look at me. Stay with me." _

_ Eddie meets his eyes. Richie's crying, he notices, the tears making tracks down his dirt-stained cheeks. He wants to tell him it's okay, but the darkness is creeping further into the sides of his vision. _

_ Richie's thumb strokes his cheek. _

_ "Please, Eds," he says, voice cracking. "Don't leave me." _

_ With all the strength he has left, Eddie reaches his hand up to lightly touch Richie's face. _

**_I'm sorry,_ ** _ he thinks.  _ **_I don't want to leave you._ **

_ "I can't lose you," Richie whispers. "I— I love you." _

_ Eddie's heart flutters, then stills. Richie's eyes are the last thing he sees before his vision darkens completely. His hand drops from Richie's face. _

**_I love you too_ ** _ , he thinks. _

_ "No, please! Eddie?!" _

Eddie's eyes fly open and he quickly turns onto his side, throwing up. Most of it comes up red. His body is shaking and in a cold sweat, head pounding. He's laying on the floor.

It feels strange to be able to breathe again, but he still can't seem to catch his breath. He reaches for the nightstand, searching for his inhaler before he remembers he's not in New York anymore, he's in the Townhouse. He left the prescription Mr. Keene gave him in the rental car.

"Fuck," he coughs, looking at the mess he made on the rug. 

He has no idea what he's supposed to tell the staff, or even what to tell his friends if they eventually come into his room. For now, he focuses on breathing.

His brain feels like it's overheating still, and he remembers what Mike said to him on the phone earlier.

_ Don't think too much about it all at once okay, Eddie? Might be too much. _

It  _ is _ too much. Remembering that they were all stalked by a homicidal clown creature from space is definitely, entirely  _ too much _ . Not only that, but they had  _ promised— _

They had all promised to come back if  _ It _ did. And if Mike called all of them together again...

"It's back," Eddie wheezes, feeling the panic set in.

The nightmares suddenly make sense. Somehow, Eddie had known they would be coming back. He knew before the call came, and he  _ saw _ things that he knows haven't happened yet, but they  _ will _ , won't they?

_ Prophetic dreams. _

His lungs feel tight again. It can't be true, it  _ can't  _ be. If it is— either Richie will die, or he will.

_ If it comes down to it… if one of us has to die— _

_ It'll be me. _

Eddie swallows nervously, tasting the tang of iron on his tongue. He glances down at his suit, then at the rug. His room looks like a murder scene. A few months ago, he would have been having a panic attack at all of this. Now, he's used to seeing his own blood.

Really, he should have known.

He slowly stands up, knees shaking with fatigue. The clock on the bedside table reads 1:29 AM. If any of his friends made it into Derry today, they should be sound asleep. He might be able to clean himself up in the bathroom without anyone seeing him.

It takes him a few minutes to take ibuprofen and fish out a change of clothes. He's careful to hold them away from his bloodied suit as he walks to the door and presses his ear to it, listening.

No sounds in the hallway.

He unlocks his door and peeks out. There's no one on the stairs or on the landing. The doors down the hallway are darkened, except for one. It's closed, but a faint light is coming out from underneath the door. Eddie doesn't know why, but his first thought is  _ Richie _ , and it makes him more nervous.

As quietly as he can, he leaves the room and closes the door behind him. The floor creaks slightly under his weight as he steps into the hall, and his anxiety spikes. He freezes and looks back at the illuminated door. 

Nothing happens.

Eddie sighs in relief and quickly walks into the bathroom, making a face as more of the floorboards creak. He closes the door behind him and turns on the light.

It's probably the ugliest bathroom he's ever seen. Dirty, too. There's patches of mold growing between the tiles on the shower wall, dust and small webs in the corners of the room, dead moths on the windowsill. The towels are a hospital mint-green, stacked neatly on a rack. They probably aren't clean. He glimpses himself in the mirror and stares. 

There's streaks of dried blood under his nose and mouth and the white part of his suit is partially splotched crimson. Dead. He looks dead. Averting his eyes, he sets his change of clothes down and starts to take his suit off.

When he finishes cleaning himself up in the sink, he grabs a towel and grimaces. It smells like mildew and old cleaner, but he dries off his face and chest with it anyway. It's probably the best option he's going to get in this town, he reasons. He changes into his clean clothes, gathering up his suit and the towel before leaving.

The hallway is still empty, but the door down the hallway is no longer illuminated. Eddie makes his way back into his room, closing the door behind him. He throws his bloodied clothes on the floor and glances at the clock. It’s 2:16 AM. He looks at the towel in his hands, then at the mess on the rug.

If Eddie had to guess how it would feel to clean up a crime scene, he would guess it felt something like this. He’s on his hands and knees, using the bathroom towel to scrub at the floor. The smell is  _ awful _ , like metal and dirt. There’s a few times he almost gags, but he manages to keep himself from throwing up again.

His hands start to hurt and he stops scrubbing, lifting the towel to assess the damage. The rug is still stained, but it doesn’t look as bad as before. He lays the towel down and stands, thinking about his next move. If he pulls the rug out from under the bed and nightstand, he can hide it somewhere for now. The smell won’t matter much, the whole Townhouse smells anyway.

Eddie spends an hour carefully removing the rug, trying not to make noise. He sneezes a few times from the amount of dust it kicks up. If he gets bronchitis or something after all this, he wouldn’t be surprised. 

After the rug is fully pulled out, he folds it as best as he can, keeping the towel inside. He holds his breath when he shoves it under the bed, avoiding inhaling any more dust. For a moment, he’s scared he’ll see eyes in the darkness under the bed frame, but he doesn’t.

The room looks relatively normal now, he thinks. If anyone asks, he can just tell them he hated how dirty the rug was and didn’t want to look at it anymore. It sounds like something he’d do. He’ll just have to pay the room damage fees when he checks out. Though… that’s wishful thinking. Eddie shivers, recalling the nightmare.

He might not be leaving this place.

Eddie bites his lip. It’s something he doesn’t want to believe, but he knows there’s a real possibility that his nightmare will come true. If it does, he doesn’t want that to be the end. He has so much he wants to say to his friends, so much he wants to thank them for, but he doesn’t know if he’ll have time to say it.

His gaze travels to the complimentary memo pad and pen on the nightstand. He picks it up, stares at the yellow lined pages. There will be no sleeping for him tonight. He props up some pillows and sits on the bed, leaning against the headboard.

For hours, he writes letters. One for each of his friends. At first, it’s difficult to find the words, and his hand shakes as he writes, but after a while his emotions begin to flow smoother. The sun rises outside the window and he pauses to turn off the bedside lamp before continuing. By the time he finishes, the clock reads 7:42 AM.

Eddie stands up, wincing slightly as his neck and back ache. His stomach growls and he realizes he slept through dinner last night. He doubts the Townhouse provides breakfast service, but he can order room service. It will be better that way. He doesn’t want to risk seeing any of the losers until dinner; he needs time for his emotions to calm down.

He looks at the pile of his writing and decides to stash it somewhere in his suitcase so they won’t find it unless something bad happens. Unless he’s gone and they have no choice but to go through his stuff.

It’s a grim thought, but lately, Eddie is used to grim.

The food he orders takes a half hour to arrive. If the hotel staff notices anything off about his room, they don’t say anything. He’s in the clear for now, and he can enjoy his too-greasy bacon in peace. Usually, he wouldn’t touch the stuff, but something about realizing his mortality has him wanting to live a little.

He’s eating glaringly unhealthy breakfast food in a dusty hotel room. The thought makes him crack a smile and puff out a small laugh. He sets his empty plate down on the nightstand and picks up his phone. 

There’s a message from Mike:

**Meeting at the Jade of the Orient tonight at 6! There’s a bus to the mall if any of you need it. Reservation is under my name. See y’all soon! :-)**

His pulse quickens as he notices it’s a group text. Each of those phone numbers he doesn’t recognize are his friends’ numbers. He takes a breath, thumbs hovering over the keyboard.

He replies:

**Can’t wait to see everyone again! - Eddie**

Eddie moves to set his phone down but before he can, it vibrates. His eyebrows furrow and he checks the screen.

**wow eds, you text like an old man - guess who**

_ Richie. _

His throat feels tight with tears. He collects himself and manages to reply.

**Haha… hi Rich - Eddie**

**'haha…' makes it sound like you're plotting my murder - dick**

**Maybe I am… since when has your nickname been dick? - Eddie**

**since your mom begged me for it last night - world class comedian**

**Fuck you. - Eddie**

**you wish - richardo the first**

**I'm muting this group chat - Bill**

**If this is what you two are like over text I'm scared for dinner - Ben**

**I missed this, truly - Mike**

_ I missed this too _ , Eddie thinks.

A wave of sadness washes over him. His eyes sting, vision blurring as tears slip down his cheeks. He locks his phone and sets it down before curling up on the bed.

It's cruel, getting to see his friends again when it won't be for very long. He feels the same pain he felt at fourteen, watching them each move away, then leaving some of them behind himself. The pain of being torn away from people who he loves, who love him.

Eddie hugs one of the pillows to him, sobbing. He cries for a long time, until he's so exhausted that he falls asleep.

No dreams come.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I want you  
> Yeah I want you  
> And nothing comes close  
> To the way that I need you  
> I wish I can feel your skin  
> And I want you  
> From somewhere within  
>   
> — Oceans by Seafret

Eddie wakes up to his phone ringing. His hand gropes blindly for it on the sheets, checking the screen when he finds it. It's Mike.

"Hey Mike," he says.

"Hi Eddie, just wanted to check in on you before dinner. Figured you might have fallen asleep."

He glances at the clock. It's almost forty minutes until six.

"I did, yeah," he says. "Thanks for waking me up, or I probably would have missed dinner."

Mike laughs softly.

"You're welcome. See you soon, Eddie."

"Yeah. See you soon."

The call ends and he sets his phone back down, wiping at his eyes. He's not usually one for unexpected naps, but he actually feels rested.

Eddie stands up and stretches, shoulders and neck still a little sore from his all-nighter. It takes him a few minutes to pick out a change of clothes for dinner. He's not sure why, but he wants to look nice. Seeing your friends after twenty seven years will do that to you, he guesses.

He goes with a polo-jacket combo and jeans. It's comfortable, even if it is weirdly similar to what he used to wear as a kid. Not the first strange thing this town's thrown at him.

It's only a short walk to the bus stop, so he decides against driving his rental there. People filter in and out of the bar beside the station as the sun disappears from the horizon, blanketing Derry in darkness.

His fear of the dark went away a while ago, but lately it's crept back. He's relieved when he finally steps on the dimly lit bus. It's not much light, but it's enough to see so he can't imagine It lurking in the dark. Though the ride is short, it's a bumpy one. The bus isn't exactly up to code, he realizes, and he thinks of several worst case scenarios, fidgeting with the zipper on his jacket. All of them are better than facing a two story spider clown.

"Next stop, Derry Mall!" the driver calls back.

Eddie sits up straighter in his seat and looks out the window. He sees a large lit building up ahead, the mall, and a smaller, less visible building further down. That must be the Jade.

The air smells damp as he steps off the bus, waiting at the curb while it drives away. A few cars pass, but the traffic there seems scarce enough that he feels safe jogging across the road after he looks both ways. He walks silently, checking behind him a few times and speeding up his pace when he feels like he's being watched. By the time he reaches The Jade of the Orient, he's practically running.

He waits outside under the lights of the sign, catching his breath. If any of his friends see him like this, it would be embarrassing. There's no way they're as scared as he is; they've always been more brave, haven't they?

Once his breathing slows enough, he takes one more breath to steady himself and pushes open the front door. His hands are shaking again, he realizes. He shoves them in his jacket pockets, hoping it helps hide them enough.

The hostess greets him. He lets her know he's here for a reservation under the name of Hanlon. As they walk through the restaurant, he nervously rattles off a list of food items he probably shouldn't have near him. Most of him knows what he's saying is bullshit, but it makes him feel better, so he doesn't pay it any mind.

She leads him into a somewhat private room and he stops mid-sentence, noticing the other two people already there, staring at him. For a second, he sees them as kids, and he  _ feels _ like a kid, too. Then the magic fades and they're adults again.

Mike and Bill. Both of them are smiling.

"Eddie!" Mike says, making his way over.

"Hey, Mikey—" he starts, but is cut off by Mike pulling him into a warm hug.

It shocks him, and it takes him a moment to hug back. When was the last time someone held him? He can't remember, but it feels nice. Mike pats his back and lets go.

"Good to see you man," he says.

"Yeah, good to see you too."

"Been a long time, Eddie," Bill says, approaching.

"Too long," he agrees, giving Bill a small smile.

Bill's hand moves as if he's about to shake Eddie's hand, but confusion passes through his eyes and he lets his hand drop to his side.

"What the hell am I doing?" he mutters, then opens his arms.

Eddie lets out a small laugh and hugs Bill, noticing with a bit of a shock that he's somewhat taller than him. Taller than Big Bill, now that's something. 

When Bill lets go of him, his hands rest on Eddie's shoulders.

"You look the same, but different. I can— you know I can still see that kid in you, isn't that strange?" he says.

"I can see it with you guys too," Eddie replies. "Definitely weird."

Bill's hand squeezes one of his shoulders and he nods. His gaze looks distant, even though he's meeting Eddie's eyes.

"Yuh-yeah… definitely weird."

His hands drop from Eddie's shoulders and he shoves them in his pockets. Eddie opens his mouth to say something, but the very  _ loud _ noise of a gong rings out behind him and makes him jump.

" _ Shit! _ what the f—" he starts, turning around.

"This meeting of the Loser's Club has officially begun!" Richie says, grinning.

Ben and Bev are beside him. They have mixed expressions of amusement and affectionate annoyance.

Eddie's heart thumps wildly in his chest. Richie's eyes meet his from across the room and something passes between them: old memories, old emotions. The last pieces of things Eddie's forgotten slowly come together as they all stand in silence.

Everything suddenly makes sense. Before all of this, Eddie knew without a doubt that he liked men, that much was obvious. He never felt anything for girlfriends, or for Myra— but even then, when he met guys he would  _ genuinely  _ be interested in, nothing ever clicked. It never got anywhere but a few half-baked wishes, a few too-long looks at his friend Phil at work.

It was because this whole time, he loved someone else. In his last nightmare, Richie said he loved him, and… and he had meant to  _ say it back _ . There's no doubt in Eddie's mind, he knows it's the truth. He's in love with Richie.

That scares him half to death.

The silence goes on too long and the tips of Eddie's ears feel hot. He lets out a forced, nervous laugh.

"Look at these guys," he says to Bill and Mike.

Richie meets Eddie's eyes again and points at Ben, mouthing the word  _ hot _ . That one makes him  _ actually  _ laugh.

"What?" Ben asks, following Eddie's gaze to Richie. "What did you say?"

Richie does one of his  _ oops I got caught _ smiles and shrugs.

"I said you look hot, dude. No big deal," he says.

There's a beat of silence before all of them start laughing. The awkwardness between them breaks, and it feels like they're in the clubhouse again, joking around.

Ben playfully pushes Richie's shoulder.

"I get it, Rich, you don't have to say it twice," he says.

" _ Twice _ ?" Bill asks, giving Richie a questioning look.

Beverly, who has been silently looking around at each of them, cracks a smile. Her eyes are brighter than when she first walked in.

"He said we looked good," she says.

"Yeah and that I got the fuckin' short end of the attractive stick," Richie says, glancing around.

His eyes find Eddie's twice, and Eddie wonders if it's just a coincidence or if he feels the same pull between them.

"Jesus," Richie continues. "All of you got hot, what the  _ fuck _ ."

"Missed that humor of yours, Rich," Mike says, smiling softly.

"Yeah," Eddie agrees.

There's a rising murmur of agreement from the other Losers.

He's trying not to stare at Richie, but it's  _ difficult. _ Seeing him again in person after only ever seeing him in comedy specials and nightmares is throwing all his self control out the window.

"Okay all of you are getting hugged right fucking now," Richie says. "You can't just say shit like that and  _ not _ get hugged, come on."

Eddie's pulse quickens as he watches Richie hug Ben. Then Bev. Then Mike, then Bill. He turns to Eddie last and hesitates. There's something in his expression that Eddie can't read, but it disappears quickly as he smiles.

"Still tiny, huh?" he asks.

"Shut up, I'm taller than Bill and Bev," Eddie quips effortlessly.

"Yeah, well, you're still small to me."

"Not all of us can be sasquatch, fuckface."

Richie's eyes widen and he lets out a loud laugh, finally pulling Eddie into a hug. Eddie's heart is pounding so hard he feels like it might burst. He hugs back, face burning. Richie is so tall, his head rests against his chest.

"There's the Eds I missed," he says.

His hand pats Eddie's back a little too hard before he pulls away.

"Ow," Eddie says, shooting him a half-hearted glare.

"Sorry," Richie says, grinning. "My sasquatch strength is a bitch."

Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Okay, I'm starving," Bill says. "All I had was airplane food and motel breakfast."

"Let's sit down, someone should be here soon to take our orders," Mike says, taking a seat.

They all take a seat, and Eddie's relieved there's an empty place for Stan between Richie and him. It would be too tempting, sitting next to him. He's sure he would revert back to his childhood habit of leaning on him or holding his hand. Of course, if they start bickering once Stan shows up, he'll be stuck in the middle of them. He always rolled his eyes and smiled at them. Eddie wonders if he's still the same old Stan.

Conversation goes from one topic to another: who's doing what these days, memories from childhood, old inside jokes. They order a round of shots, but Richie orders a few more along with it.

"So what about you, Eddie? What do you do?" Ben asks.

Eddie stares at his water for a moment, takes a sip. He's so  _ boring _ compared to the rest of them.

"I'm a risk analyst," he says.

"Oh, wow, that actually sounds really interesting," Richie says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. "What do you have to do for that? Paperwork?"

"Mostly, yeah. I basically analyze the investments my firm has and project potential losses to—"

Richie cuts him off with a fake loud snore. He opens one of his eyes to look at Eddie before grinning.

"Sorry, fell asleep for a second there, go on," he says.

Beverly bursts into giggles and Ben glances at her with a smile before returning his gaze to Eddie.

Eddie gives Richie a look, the one he used to be so accustomed to making. The  _ shut up, Richie _ face, accompanied by a swell of affection in his chest. He  _ tries _ to look annoyed but the others are slowly devolving into laughter too, and he can't help but crack a smile.

"Fuck off, Rich," he says, taking a drink of his water to hide his amusement.

"What? I'm sorry, man, I'm just saying that sounds really fucking boring."

"Some people enjoy more logic-based jobs," Ben says. "I know I enjoy the numbers involved in being an architect."

" _ God _ , I fucking hate math," Richie groans.

Eddie sets his glass down and shakes his head.

"You were always really good at math, weren't you?" he asks. "I remember I got pissed because I studied more than you and you still got a better grade."

"That's right! I remember that too," Bill says, laughing softly. "I wuh-would have failed calc without you, Rich."

Richie shrugs and picks up one of his shots, downs it.

"Yeah, math was easy for me, but I didn't enjoy it. Again, fucking boring."

Eddie stares at his water glass again.

"Boring fits me, I guess," he says, and he doesn't mean it to sound so sad.

The table grows silent.

"Eddie—" Mike starts.

He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up to meet Richie's eyes.

"Hey, man, I didn't mean it like that," he says. "You're not boring, Eds."

"Exactly. You're not boring, Eddie," Mike says.

There's a murmur of agreement from the others. A small smile tugs at the corners of Eddie's mouth.

"Okay, I'll take your word for it," he says. "My job's still boring, though."

"Thank  _ fuck _ ," Richie sighs. "I was about to have an aneurysm if I had to hype your job up. Shit sucks, man."

"Yeah."

The wait staff arrives with their food orders, and two more shots for Richie. Eddie wonders why he's drinking so much, but if Richie remembers even a piece of everything he's remembered so far, he can't blame him.

They all start eating, most of the conversation quieting for a bit. Ben's the one to first break the silence. He seems the most curious about everyone else's lives, Eddie thinks. Same old Ben, wanting to check in on how everyone's doing.

"So Bill, you married an actress, right? I remember reading about it online somewhere," he says, looking a little confused. "I guess I didn't realize it was you at the time."

Bill nods, finishing chewing part of an eggroll.

"Yeah, I did. Auh-Audra, she's—" he pauses, and Eddie frowns. "She's great."

Ben smiles.

"Good to hear," he says.

"You married, Ben?" Bill asks.

"No, I'm not. Haven't really had a lot of time to meet anyone between sketching out blueprints and flying places for meetings."

He shrugs, then glances at Bev. Something in his expression is sad; Eddie recognizes it as longing. Ben told him a long time ago how he felt about her, he remembers. It's clear those feelings never went away. Just like his own feelings for Richie.

"Hold on a fucking second," Richie says. "Is that a wedding ring, Eds?"

Eddie’s heart sinks and he feels sick. In all his panic and deliriousness, he forgot to get rid of the ring. He quickly moves his hands under the table and tries to subtly take it off. Richie is sitting only one chair away from him, though, and the table doesn’t hide anything.

“No way, you got  _ married _ ?” he asks.

The sick feeling in his stomach intensifies.

“I’m— actually, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Let’s change the subject,” Mike says.

“Yes. Please,” Eddie says.

He gets the ring off and lets it drop on the floor under the table. No use in keeping it.

A crease forms in the middle of Richie’s eyebrows. He glances between Mike and Eddie, looking a little confused before his expression softens.

“Yeah, sure, let’s talk about my marriage then,” he says.

Eddie looks at him, eyes wide.

“No  _ way _ , Richie,” Beverly says, laughing. “There’s no way you’re married.”

Richie grins.

“No, I totally am! I’m serious.”

“Bullshit,” Bill says, smiling.

“You’re  _ married _ ?” Eddie finally asks.

“You didn’t hear about it?” Richie asks him.

Eddie tries to remember if he read anything online about a wedding. He knows Richie talked about a girlfriend in his specials, but other than that, nothing comes to mind. Did he miss something? Did Richie marry his girlfriend and he didn’t know?

“No, I didn’t. No.”

“Yeah, me and my right hand are  _ really _ happy together,” Richie replies.

Bill chokes on his drink and Beverly bursts into giggles, half leaning on Richie. The line is right out of one of Richie’s comedy bits and Eddie’s mad that he didn’t see the punchline coming. 

“Dude, did you seriously just quote your own comedy special at me?” he says.

Richie’s eyebrows shoot up and Eddie’s surprised to see that he  _ definitely _ managed to fluster him with that one. He also just admitted to watching his comedy.

“Wha— well, I uh… wait, what? You’ve seen my specials?”

His heart is thudding in his chest again. He opens his mouth to say something, but one of the waitresses walks in with a round of shots for them all— and two special ones for Richie. He gives Eddie a look that he reads as  _ we’ll talk later _ .

“Is someone gonna make a toast so I can inhale these bad boys?” he asks.

_ God, he’s so annoying, _ Eddie thinks.  _ He’s so annoying and handsome and funny and I hate his fucking chisled jawline. _

Beverly nudges Richie gently with her elbow and grins, eyes bright. She lifts her shot glass in the air.

“To the Losers,” she says.

Ben raises his, smiling at her. There’s a softness in his eyes.

“The best friends I’ve ever had,” he says.

Mike smiles and raises his, his gentle gaze finding each of them.

“To the Losers. My family.”

“The Losers,” Bill says, raising his. “I love you guys.”

Richie grins, his nose scrunching slightly.

“Mikey said it. Not to be a fuckin’ sap or anything, but, yeah. To family.”

He lifts his shot but sets it back down on the table and looks at Eddie expectantly. Eddie smiles and lifts his shot up, giving a nod to Ben.

“To my best friends,” he says.

All of them tip their shots back but Richie. Eddie makes a face and coughs slightly, grabbing for his water. He never really did like the way alcohol tasted or burned. The occasion calls for celebrating, though, so he makes tonight an exception.

“Hey, I’m about to give a blowjob, guys,” Richie says. “Watch this.”

Eddie glances at Richie, thoroughly confused. He watches Richie lean down and grab the shot glass with his mouth, lifting his head to tilt it back into his throat with no hands. His eyes are on Richie even as the empty shot glass topples to the table from his mouth.

“Well?” Richie asks.

“You know,” Bill says. “I was kind of hoping some of it would guh-go up your nose. Since you made me snort sake earlier.”

Richie shrugs.

“What can I say, I’m good at jokes  _ and _ shots. Total package.”

“Hey Eddie, you want to split this bottle of sake with me?” Ben asks.

Eddie blinks, realizing he was still staring. He mentally reminds himself to thank Ben later for snapping him out of it.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, grabbing the empty glass by his plate.

After watching Richie do  _ that _ , he’s going to have to drink a little bit.

Ben fills Eddie’s glass halfway, then fills his own.

There’s another  _ thud _ of a shot glass hitting the wooden table and Eddie guesses Richie just finished his second shot. Technically the fourth of the night. He raises his glass and takes a few sips of sake. It’s not bad— it vaguely tastes like wine.

“Rich,” Bev says.

“Yes, Miss Scarlett?”

She holds up a few noodles with her chopsticks.

“Are you chicken?” she asks.

“Bring it on.”

Chicken. That’s a game Eddie hasn't played in a long, long time. They used to play chicken fight in the quarry, stacking themselves on each other’s shoulders and trying to knock the other off into the water. There were other ways of playing, of course. Once, Richie convinced Ben that they should run at each other full speed and see who chickened out first. They hit each other so hard that Richie’s glasses went flying and cracked one of the lenses.

Beverly takes one end of the noodles in her mouth and feeds the other side to Richie with the chopsticks. It’s then Eddie realizes they’re playing  _ kissing _ chicken. He drinks more of his sake and watches their mouths get closer, feeling uncomfortable. At the last second, Bev snaps the noodles in half with her chopsticks and pulls away. 

Eddie lets out a sigh of relief and quickly glances at Richie, hoping he didn’t hear it. Ben pats Eddie’s shoulder.

“Looks like I’m the winner here, Bevvie Boop,” Richie says.

“Sure,” she says. “I got more of the noodles, though. So who’s the real winner?”

“Fuck, you’re right.”

Beverly laughs and looks at Ben.

“Can you pass me that sake bottle, Benny?” she asks.

Ben’s cheeks visibly redden.

“Sure, Bev,” he says, grabbing a bottle from the table next to him and passing it across to her.

“Jesus, Ben,” Richie says, looking at his arm. “You’re fuckin’  _ jacked _ , man.”

Ben laughs.

“I’m not jacked per say, but I do work out,” he says.

“It shows,” Bill says.

“Fuck yeah it does,” Richie continues. “I bet you’re strong as fuck. You could probably throw me.”

Ben grins and shrugs slightly.

“Probably.”

“I have limp noodles for arms, but I’m definitely stronger than Eddie over here.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow at Richie.

“What makes you think that?”

Richie meets his eyes and Eddie curses his heart for jumping.

“You’re tiny.”

Eddie lets out an incredulous puff of air.

“I bet I could beat you in an arm wrestling contest, jerkwad.”

“No shit? Huh… okay, you’re on. Let’s go.”

Richie moves his chair closer to Eddie’s and places his elbow on the table, hand ready. Eddie takes a few gulps of sake and places the glass down before moving to grasp Richie’s hand. It’s big compared to his, and warm. He tries not to register how nice it feels to hold his hand.

“Okay, count of three then we go.”

Eddie nods.

“One,” he says.

“Two.”

“Three!”

Eddie puts all the strength he has into his arm, trying his best to push Richie’s hand to the table, but Richie is  _ definitely _ stronger.

_ It’s probably his fucking arms, they’re way longer than mine, _ he thinks. 

His arm muscles strain and shake, but Richie beats him within a minute, grinning triumphantly.

“Told you, Eds. I’m stronger.”

Eddie shakes his head and sets his elbow back on the table, hand ready.

“Let’s go again.”

“Ooh, Eds the sore loser,” Richie says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up and wrestle me.”

“Okay, okay… jeebus.”

He holds Eddie’s hand and gets ready. They count down again, but this time Eddie is more focused. Their strength is evenly matched for the first twenty seconds, then Richie slowly starts getting the jump on him again. He feels frustrated.

“Stop trying to win, you broad shouldered fuck.”

Richie looks a little surprised and his strength slips slightly, allowing Eddie to gain a little bit of ground.

“Well okay, that’s  _ not _ how I expected you to flirt,” he jokes.

Eddie meets his eyes, still concentrating on keeping Richie from winning.

“What the fuck did you expect me to say? Let’s take our shirts off and kiss?”

That gains him some more ground. He has Richie’s arm leaning towards his side of the table now. Richie’s eyes are wide behind his glasses and Eddie swears his cheeks are a little redder than before.

“The fuck? Are you passively aggressively flirting with me right now?”

Eddie puts all the strength he has left into one last push. Richie’s hand hits the table.

“Actually,” he says, not letting go of Richie’s hand just yet. “I was distracting you.”

Richie looks a little impressed.

“Damn okay, so you’re a sneaky little shit,” he says. “Props to you, though. We’re evenly matched, I guess.”

“Yeah. Evenly matched,” Eddie agrees.

They stare at each other for a moment, still holding hands.

Richie lets go first, reaching for his mostly empty sake glass he poured for himself at the beginning of the night. Eddie follows suit with his own. It isn’t helping his nerves much, he still feels so  _ weird _ around Richie.

“Knew you had it in you, Eddie,” Bill says. “You wuh-were always the strong one.”

“Definitely,” Mike agrees.

"Yeah you're good to have around in a tough spot, Eddie," Ben says. "A good friend."

Richie finishes off his sake and sets the empty glass down, looking like he's deep in thought.

"Holy shit," he says. "I just remembered you patched Ben up, Eds. After Bowers, remember?"

Ben smiles a little bit, but it's sad.

"You did," he says.

"I remember," Eddie says, patting Ben's shoulder. "I was squeamish the whole time."

"You still did it, though. The scar probably isn't as bad as it could have been because of that."

"We were always getting into trouble," Bev says, staring off into space.

"We were," Eddie agrees.

"This is so fuckin'  _ weird _ ," Richie says. "I keep remembering things out of nowhere."

Mike gives Richie a concerned look, but remains silent. Eddie knows what he's thinking. If they remember too quickly, it might not go well for them.

"Just take it easy," Eddie says. "Sometimes memories can come back too fast."

"Shit, Eds. You broke your arm, right? And we didn't see you for half of the summer because your mom—"

"That's right," Beverly interrupts. "She wouldn't let us see you."

"Yeah! And we got into that big fight because Bill wanted to go back to that  _ fucking  _ house, what was it's called?"

"Neibolt," Bill says, staring.

Eddie feels anxiety begin to bubble up in his chest. They're getting dangerously close to remembering the worst of it. The shadow, the beast from the void. It.

" _ Fuck _ , Neibolt," Richie breathes.

He runs a hand through his hair and Eddie can see he's shaking.

"I wanted to find Juh-Georgie," Bill says. "He— something tuh-took him."

Mike places a hand on Bill's shoulder. Eddie's anxiety is slowly climbing and he's regretting not bringing his inhaler. Placebo or no.

"Shit," Eddie says quietly, resting his head in his hands. "Where's Stan when you need him?"

"Stan?" Richie repeats louder, overhearing. "Holy shit, Stanley Uris."

"I guess he isn't showing up?" Ben asks. "Were you able to contact him, Mike?"

"I was, yes," Mike says. "He said he would come."

"Of  _ course _ he didn't show up, are you guys serious?" Richie asks. "He hated all that Neibolt shit, he hated all of it, why would he come back to this fucking town?"

"Because we made an oath," Bill says. "That's why."

"He's probably too scared to show. I mean,  _ fuck _ , I almost didn't. Mike called me and I felt so scared I fucking threw up."

The table grows silent. They all look between one another.

"I started stuh-stuttering again after Mike called me," Bill admits. "I haven't stuttered in twuh-twenty seven years."

"I drank so much I probably almost died on the plane here," Ben says, looking down. "I was… really nervous. Terrified, actually."

"I totaled my car," Eddie says into his hands, then lifts his head up. "I ran a red light and got T-boned by a taxi."

"Jesus, Eds, are you okay?" Richie asks.

"Yeah, I'm fine. A little sore still, but fine."

"I didn't remember any of you when Mike called," Beverly says, so quiet that Eddie almost doesn't hear her. "My hands were shaking so much I almost dropped my phone. They're shaking right now, too."

She holds her hands out and, sure enough, they're trembling.

"Fear," Mike says slowly. "That's what It does to us. It makes us afraid."

"It," Richie says, then his eyes widen. "Jesus  _ fuck _ , the fucking  _ clown. _ "

"Pennywise," Bev breathes, eyes filling with tears.

The name sends a shudder down Eddie’s spine and he swears he can hear the distorted laughter in his head, see those glowing eyes.

“Mike… when you called me, you said you needed our help with something,” Bill says, face pale. “Wuh-What did you need help with?"

“We made an oath, most of you remember that much,” Mike says, looking around the table.

Eddie feels his palm burn slightly and he remembers the first time he felt it— in the car when Mike called him. The blood oath.

“We all promised,” Mike continues, “that if It ever came back, we would come back too. To finish what we started. To kill It.”

“You called us back here to kill a fucking homicidal clown?” Richie asks. “This shit sucks, you know that?”

“Let him talk,” Ben says, glancing at Richie before returning his gaze to Mike.

Mike takes a deep breath and sets what looks like a journal down on the table, opening it and rifling through the pages.

“It’s starting again, just like it does every twenty seven years,” he says, stopping on a page and pointing. “Look. Last week a man, Adrian Mellon, was found slaughtered. A little girl, Lisa, went missing just last night. And before that, more—”

“I don’t wanna fucking hear this, man,” Richie interrupts.

“I need another fuh-fucking drink,” Bill says, bringing a shaking hand to touch his forehead.

Eddie’s staring at the table, stomach so full of dread he feels nauseous.

“Can we just stop talking about It?” he says, voice trembling. “Please.”

“What he said,” Richie adds.

“No,” Mike says. “You have to listen—”

“I don’t have to do jack  _ shit _ , you’re fucking freaking me out!”

“There will be more deaths if we don’t do something!”

Ben reaches over and touches Mike’s shoulder.

“Calm down,” he says to him, then looks at the rest of them. “Would you guys  _ please _ just let him speak?”

The table grows quiet. All of them are looking at Mike, waiting.

“We may have weakened It back then, stopped It from killing, but we didn’t kill It,” he says. “That’s why I brought you back. We have to finish It this time. For good. Otherwise… It won’t ever stop.”

“Wow, for some reason, that  _ didn’t _ make me feel any less shitty,” Richie says.

Eddie can feel himself verging on a panic attack. He reaches for his fortune cookie to try and distract himself, opening it carefully with trembling fingers. A crease forms on his forehead when he reads the slip of paper inside.

_ Could _ .

“Hey guys…” he says, turning his fortune around. “What is this supposed to mean?”

Richie leans over and reads it.

“The hell? Hold on,” he says, opening his own cookie. “Mine says ‘guess’.”

Bill’s staring down at his own fortune, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Pass them over here,” he says. “I think they muh-mean something,” he says, standing.

He takes Eddie and Richie’s fortunes and places them on the table in front of him.

“Could, guess, and cut… Mikey, what do you have?”

Mike passes his over and Bill freezes, looking as if he’s seen a ghost. He sets it down next to the others. Richie stands and moves closer and Eddie follows suit.

_ It. _

“What the  _ fuck? _ ” Richie asks.

Ben adds his to the others.

_ Not. _

“Guess cut not could it,” Richie reads.

“It has to be a message,” Mike says.

“Guess it could not cut?” Richie guesses.

“Why would it guess it could not cut?” Eddie asks.

“I don’t know what ‘guess it could not cut’ means,” Richie says. “Is it some kind of fucking riddle?”

Eddie has a terrible thought.

“When it says ‘it,’ does it mean  _ It _ ?”

“No,” Bill says, “it doesn’t muh-mean that.”

“Maybe it goes this way?” Ben asks, rearranging them. “It could not guess.”

“Yeah, but then where does ‘cut’ go?” Richie asks. “Doesn’t make any fucking sense. Did you mess with the fortune cookies, Mike?”

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” Mike says. “It’s playing with us. Feeding on our fear.”

Beverly hasn’t moved an inch since the debate started. She’s holding her piece of paper between shaking fingers, staring at it with wide, tear-filled eyes. Bill notices and slowly holds out his hand.

“Bev,” he says. “What does yours say?”

She hands it to him, not meeting his eyes. A small sob leaves her and she looks away from where the fortunes are arranged on the table. Bill’s expression turns grim when he reads it. He rearranges the pieces on the table and swallows back tears.

_ Guess Stanley Could Not Cut It. _

Eddie feels his heart drop into his stomach. In his nightmares, he never once saw Stanley. He saw Richie of course, and Ben, Bev, Mike, Bill… but never Stanley. Why did he never realize?

“Why does it say Stanley,” he says, feeling out of breath. “Why the  _ fuck _ does it say Stanley?!”

The bowl of fortune cookies in the middle of the table lurches and starts to shake. Everyone backs away from it, staring.

“What’s going on?” Ben asks.

One of the cookies jumps out of the bowl and lands on the table near Mike. It begins to crack, begins to  _ hatch. _

“The fuck is that shit?” Richie asks, retreating backwards.

Eddie can’t look away. He watches as a grotesque, bloated insect crawls out of the cookie and stretches its legs. The head twists and Eddie is terrified to notice that it's a baby’s face. Its features contort as it starts to cry, skittering quickly around the table.

“Fuck!” he yells, backing up and covering his face. “I can’t fucking do this, I can’t fucking—”

More cookies jump onto the table.

“Holy shit!” Bill says, backing up against the wall.

The one near Richie hatches and an eyeball slithers out, the fleshy nerves moving like tentacles to push it forward. It glances around rapidly before finding its target.

“Shit!” Richie says. “Jesus christ, it’s fucking  _ looking at me _ !”

“I don’t want to be here, I  _ don’t _ !” Eddie gasps.

He feels hot tears make their way down his cheeks. His breath is coming in short gasps and he can’t stop shaking. Ben wraps an arm around Eddie.

“You’re fine, it’ll be fine,” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure of himself.

One of the cookies flaps up from the table, leathery wing coming dangerously close to Eddie.

“Fucking  _ shit _ !” he screams.

Ben tries to swat it out of the air.

“Eddie?!” Richie calls. “Eddie, you okay?!”

He hears Richie’s voice, but he’s too busy hiding his face in Ben’s shoulder to answer.

“It’s not real!” Mike excalims. “It’s not!”

Eddie opens his eyes and immediately regrets it when he makes eye contact with a severed head in the fish tank.

“It’s not real!” Mike repeats, picking up a chair.

The table is oozing and burning with black sludge. Some of it flings into the air when Mike brings the chair down  _ hard _ on the bowl of cookies. He hits it again, and again, and  _ again. _

Eddie can’t stop thinking that real or not, this confirms his nightmares aren’t just nightmares. It’s not a figment of his imagination, or a projection of stress from work— It’s  _ real _ .

There’s more shattering noises as Mike slams the chair off the table with such force that some of it splinters.

“Is everything alright?!” a voice exclaims.

The insect baby isn’t crying anymore and the flapping has stopped. Everything is quiet. Eddie looks around and sees a normal room with a thoroughly smashed mess of glasses and plates in the middle of the table. Their hostess is standing at the entrance to the room, looking more than a little concerned.

“Oh yeah, everything’s great,” Richie says, back still pressed against the wall. “Can we have the check, please?”

She looks at all of them, eyes wide before she forces a smile and nods, turning to walk back towards the front desk.

Ben pulls away from Eddie and places a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, Ed?” he asks.

Eddie nods, breathing still shaky.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he says. “I’m not hurt or anything.”

“That was fucked,” Richie says, grabbing his jacket from the back of his chair. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

He glances in Eddie’s direction and Eddie nods.

“Yeah, I can’t be in here anymore,” he says, starting to walk.

Ben makes his way over towards Bev. He walks next to her as the rest of them shuffle out of the room and towards the exit. Richie insists on paying. He impatiently signs the check and writes down a substantial tip.

“That should, um, cover the damages,” he says.

The hostess looks at the number and nods.

“Have a good night,” she says.

“Yeah, you too.”

Eddie lingers behind as the others head for the front doors, wanting to walk beside Richie. He knows they’re nowhere near It’s lair yet, but he can’t help but feel like he needs to look out for him anyway. That and he missed him. He missed him  _ a lot _ .

Beverly takes out her phone as they enter the parking lot, scrolling through her messages. She turns to Mike, their previous group chat open on her phone.

"Is this one Stan's number?" she asks. "I want to check in on him."

Mike glances at the screen and nods.

"Yeah, that's him."

Bev calls the number and puts it on speaker phone. Eddie paces while it rings and Richie places a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Hey, Eds, it's fine," he says. "Stan's gonna be okay and you don't have to stay in Derry. This is  _ crazy _ , we're not fighting that thing."

"Richie, listen to me," Mike says. "We need to do this, we have to—"

" _ No,  _ we don't, Mike," Richie interrupts. "Man, you fucking lied to get us here and now you're asking us to put our lives in danger for this shitty town? Fuck that, I don't owe this place  _ anything. _ "

"Rich,  _ please _ ."

"No! I'm not getting fucking murdered, man. Sorry."

"Mike," Eddie says quietly, looking up at him. "I can't do this either. I'm sorry."

He's scared. If he leaves Derry, maybe the nightmare won't happen. Maybe he can avoid it, maybe they can all get away, pretend like the oath never happened.

Mike looks back at Eddie and goes to say something, but they all hear another voice coming from Beverly's phone.

"Hello?" a woman's voice asks.

"Mrs. Uris? I'm Beverly Marsh, an old friend of your husband's," Bev says.

There's a long pause and what sounds like a sob. Eddie's heart clenches.  _ Please, no, _ he thinks.  _ Please. _

"I'm sorry. He— he passed," Mrs. Uris says.

A tear slips down Beverly's cheek, but she doesn't look surprised. Eddie feels numb. He's staring at the asphalt, trying to come to terms with Stan being gone.

"When did it happen?" Beverly asks.

"Yesterday. It was  _ awful _ , the way he died. His wrists—"

Beverly mutters something to herself that Eddie can't hear.

"— in the bathtub."

Another sob comes from the phone.

"I'm sorry, I can't— I have to go."

"We're all so sorry, Patty," Beverly says.

A choked  _ thank you _ comes from the other line before it goes dead.

They all stand in the somber silence of the dim parking lot.

"It knuh-knew before us," Bill says, voice thick with tears. "About S-Stuh—"

He swallows and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Stan," he finishes.

Eddie’s standing completely still now, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, body trembling. He feels nauseous. The nightmares don’t matter, the oath doesn’t matter,  _ none  _ of it matters anymore. It’s worth  _ nothing _ if Stan’s gone.

There’s no way he can go back to New York, but he can sure as hell leave Derry and never look back. Maybe he’ll forget again. Maybe forgetting will be easier.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Richie breathes, running his hands through his hair.

He paces for a few seconds, then stops, his back facing everyone.

“ _ Fuck!” _ he yells, voice carrying across the lot.

Mike hasn’t said a word since the call. Beverly lights a cigarette and sits on one of the decorative rocks by the light post, tears silently rolling down her cheeks. Ben’s close by her, eyes distant.

“I’m leaving,” Richie says. “Going back to the Townhouse and packing my shit up.”

“Rich, please, we can’t do this without you,” Mike says. “We’ll need all of us to kill It.”

“We don’t have all of us anymore, Mike. I’m out. Sorry, this is— this is fucking  _ insane. _ ”

“I’m with Richie,” Eddie says, finally looking up. “I’m not staying.”

Mike doesn’t say anything. He just looks sad.

Richie looks at Eddie and his expression softens.

“You need a ride back?” he asks.

“Yeah. I took the bus here, but I have a rental back at the Townhouse.”

Richie nods and glances around at the rest of them, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“So uh… see you all back at the Townhouse, I guess. I’ll say my goodbyes there. Come on, Eds.”

He turns and starts walking. Eddie gives one last glance at the ruins of the Losers before following Richie. They walk to the other side of the lot, not saying anything. 

“Don’t laugh at my car,” Richie says, breaking the silence. “I wanted to look cool.”

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow and he looks up just as he hears Richie unlock the doors from a distance. It’s an  _ obnoxiously _ red Mustang convertible. The top is up, and it looks like it’s been recently washed. Most of all, though, it just looks  _ expensive. _

“Jesus, Rich,” he says. “I don’t even  _ want _ to know how much you paid for that.”

“Yeah, you don’t. Pretty sure you’d maul me.”

“I drive—  _ drove _ a Cadillac Escalade so… I don’t know. We’re probably even on the expensive car spectrum.”

Richie's head whips in his direction, eyebrows raised.

"A fuckin'  _ Cadillac Escalade _ ? That's like the posh version of a minivan."

"Hey, it looked classy."

"What color was it?"

"Black."

Richie looks like he's debating something.

"Yeah, okay. Black would be classy. If you had a white one, I'd judge you," he moves to open the driver door. "That shit's  _ boring _ ."

Eddie cracks a smile and heads to the other side of the car, getting in. The inside smells faintly of cigarette smoke, but it's masked by the pine scented air freshener attached to the air vent. Richie lets out a heavy sigh as they buckle their seatbelts.

"I don't know what to think, Eds. This whole thing is so  _ fucked _ and Stan is just— he's just  _ gone _ ."

Eddie stares at his hands in his lap and feels the numbness that washed over him earlier fade a bit. It will break down completely at some point, and when it does, he knows it'll crush him.

"Yeah. Honestly, I… I haven't even processed it yet. I can't believe it."

"Yeah, same here.  _ Shit _ ."

He starts the car and pulls out of the parking space, heading back towards the main road. The rest of the Losers are gone when he passes the Jade's exit. 

"So, um, to change the subject," Richie says, giving him a quick side glance, "you've definitely watched at least one of my comedy specials."

Eddie feels his ears grow hot.

"Oh god."

"Didn't think I'd catch that, huh? You knew I quoted myself though, so… explain,  _ Edward _ ."

"I've seen a few of them, yeah," he admits.

"And?"

"They sound similar to the jokes you used to make when we were kids, only not as good, I guess."

"Ouch. Okay."

"I mean they don't sound like they're you, Rich."

Richie lets out a small puff of a laugh. It's more sad than amused.

"Bingo, Eds. They're not mine, I have a ghostwriter."

"Wait, what? You don't write your own stuff?"

"Nope. I just get on stage and spout shit they tell me to say."

"I fucking  _ knew it _ . Your jokes are way better than that shit."

Richie smiles a little bit.

"Yeah, well, tell that to my manager."

Eddie looks over at him and frowns.

"Sorry, Rich."

"No, no, it's fine. God, I'm being a fucking Debbie Downer," he says. "I'm turning on the radio."

He hits the power button and cranks the volume.

_ In my life… there's been heartache and pain— _

"Oh shit," Eddie says.

_ I don't know if I could face it again— _

"What?" Richie asks.

"I love this song."

_ Can't stop now, I've traveled so far— _

Richie glances at him and grins.

"Foreigner?  _ Really _ ?"

_ —to change this lonely life... _

"Yes, really. It's a good song."

The chorus hits and Richie shakes his head, laughing a little.

" _ What _ ?" Eddie asks, mildly annoyed.

"I just didn't peg you as the romantic type, Eds."

Eddie scrunches his nose slightly, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

"What do you mean? I'm totally romantic."

"Okay, I'm interested, go on."

"Dude, do you  _ not _ remember the time you were grounded and I climbed through your fucking window to give you the new Thundercats issue?"

Richie stops at a red light and gives him a wide-eyed look.

"Yeah, I remember that but— hold on,  _ wait, _ you were being  _ romantic? _ "

Eddie's pulse jumps into a sprint and he suddenly feels very self-conscious. That was the exact opposite of subtle.

"No! No, I just meant that I— I have the potential to be romantic. Because I care and all that."

"Oh."

It almost sounds like he's disappointed, but Eddie thinks he might be imagining it. The light turns green and Richie keeps driving. They both stay silent, the same song playing on without them.

When it gets to the chorus again, Richie starts singing along.  _ Badly. _

" _ I wanna know what love is!" _ he sings. " _ I want you to show me!" _

Eddie looks at him, trying to hold back a laugh.

"What are you doing?" he asks.

"Singing. Come on, Eds.  _ I wanna feel what love is! _ Go, it's your turn."

"Oh! Um _ — I know you can show me _ ."

He's too timid, and his voice wavers slightly.

"God, we  _ suck _ ," Richie says, laughing. "Oh well."

He keeps singing along, tapping his hand on the steering wheel to the beat. Eddie smiles and joins in again, less quiet. That makes Richie grin. 

They both start bobbing their heads to the rhythm, belting out the lyrics like they're at a concert. Towards the end of the song, Richie starts singing in the absolute  _ worst _ British accent Eddie's ever heard and it makes him laugh so hard his stomach hurts. Richie's cracking up too, but he keeps trying to sing between giggles.

_ I love him _ , Eddie thinks.  _ I really do. _

When they pull into the Townhouse parking lot, they're still laughing, even though the song is over and they've stopped singing. There's tears in Eddie's eyes and his abdomen feels like he just did twenty sit-ups.

"Forget comedy, I should be in a goddamn  _ band _ ," Richie says. "Then I could make ears bleed all over the country."

Eddie laughs so hard he snorts a little bit. Richie looks at him with a big grin.

"Oh, hey! I made you snort. Thank fuck I still have that in me, I was worried I lost my touch."

"Shut it, dickwad," Eddie replies, though he's smiling.

He gets out of the car, waiting for Richie before they head inside together.

"Looks like we beat everyone here," Richie says, looking around.

"Yeah, looks like it."

The lounge and bar area are empty and so is the front desk. It's eerily quiet. Richie breaks the silence.

"Are you heading back home?"

Eddie crosses his arms, letting out a sigh.

"No, I'm not going back there. I don't know where I'm going, actually."

Richie's quiet for too long and Eddie looks up at him. He follows his gaze and realizes he's looking at where his wedding ring used to be. Eddie shoves his hands into his pockets. Richie looks embarrassed before he glances at the ground and lightly kicks at the carpeting.

"Do you— I dunno, do you want to maybe go somewhere together?" he asks. "I mean I haven't seen you in forever and it would be dumb to just… not hang out at all, you know? Even if we are leaving Derry."

Eddie's heart leaps in his chest.

"Oh. I—  _ yeah _ , I'd like that."

Richie lifts his head to meet Eddie's eyes, expression brightening.

"Really? You'd be okay getting stuck in a car with me?" he asks.

"Yeah, I'd be fine."

"You're gonna get hours of me singing like that. Free concert just for you, Eds."

Richie smiles; it makes wrinkles appear at the corners of his eyes. Eddie wants to kiss him and the urge is so sudden it's shocking. He snaps himself out of it and laughs softly.

"Lucky me," he says. "I'll sing too. We can roll down the windows and make everyone's ears bleed."

Richie laughs and gives Eddie a long look. He pats his shoulder, then rests his hand on it, squeezing lightly.

"I missed you, man,” he says. “Seriously.”

Eddie smiles and instinctively raises his hand to touch Richie's. He runs his thumb lightly across his skin. Richie's eyes widen and he almost looks shy.

"I missed you too," Eddie replies.

They stand there for a few minutes, just looking at each other. Blue has always been Eddie’s favorite color. He never really knew why— he just assumed he liked how calm it felt. Staring into Richie’s eyes, though, he knows.

“We should uh— grab our bags,” Richie says. “Start packing up the car.”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies.

Neither of them move.

“Where are we gonna go?” Eddie asks, breaking the silence.

“Anywhere,” Richie says. “Anywhere you want. Anything is better than this fucking place.”

Eddie smiles a little bit and nods. He finally lets his hand drop back to his side and Richie takes it as a cue to remove his hand from Eddie’s shoulder.  They give each other another long look. Richie breaks eye contact first and turns to head toward the stairs. Eddie watches him go, letting out a small sigh.

He wants to leave Derry more than anything, wants more time with his friends, more time to catch up and to laugh. With everything he has, he  _ hopes _ they can escape this. Live normal lives. Be happy. Something in his gut tells him it won't be that easy, though. 

For now, he heads back up the stairs to pack, just in case his life decides to go right for once.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You were alone, left out in the cold  
> Clinging to the ruin of your broken heart
> 
> You were falling and lonely, cry out:  
> Will you fix me up? Will you show me hope?  
> The end of the day, I'm helpless  
> Can you keep me close? Can you love me?"  
>   
> — "Someone To Stay" by Vancouver Sleep Clinic

It doesn’t take long for Eddie to grab his things. He decides to leave his bloodied suit from the other night wrapped up in the rug under the bed. The clothes he wore to bed last night are laying on the floor and he makes a face. When was the last time  _ that _ was cleaned? He digs into one the compartments of his suitcase where he keeps a few extra garbage bags to store dirty clothes in. They’ll have to stop at a laundromat somewhere along the road, wherever they’re going.

The thought of leaving Derry with Richie comforts him. For a little bit, he thinks that maybe all of this was just a fluke; maybe the nightmare was just a reaction to the trauma he endured when they fought It the first time. Maybe once he leaves, he’ll be free, and Richie will be safe.

“Eduardo! Ándele!” Richie yells from downstairs. “Get your shit and let’s go!”

Eddie quickly stuffs his nightclothes in the garbage back and packs it into his half-open suitcase. He takes one last glance around the room to make sure he didn’t forget anything. His toiletry bag is still on the bed; he’ll have to make another trip to come back and get it. He picks up both suitcases heads out of the room, struggling with the weight of them as he makes his way down the stairs.

“I just need to grab my toiletry bag and then we can—”

Richie is standing at the bottom of the stairs with Ben and Beverly. They all look like they’ve seen a ghost.

“—go,” Eddie finishes, glancing between all of them. “What’s going on?”

“Bev just said she’s seen all of us fucking die,” Richie says.

“Rich—” Ben sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Let’s just… try to talk about this calmly, okay?”

“You want me to talk about this  _ calmly _ , Ben? She knew how Stan died! If she’s seen that for all of us, who’s to say it isn’t going to fucking happen?!”

Beverly is shaking, Eddie can see it. The fear is creeping back into his chest. It was silly of him to think that anything good could possibly come out of all of this. He sets his bags down and walks down the rest of the stairs.

“It might not,” Ben replies, “we don’t know the whole story yet, just— just let Bev talk.”

Eddie walks up to stand between Richie and Beverly, hands in his pockets so they can’t see them shaking.

“What do you mean you’ve seen us all die?” he asks softly.

She turns to look at him, eyes filled with tears. There’s something else in her gaze though too, something sad and knowing.

“Ever since I left this place, I’ve been… having nightmares,” she says. “ _ Awful _ nightmares with people dying, people in  _ pain _ . I didn’t know who they were until I remembered all of you, but now I— now I know.”

_ Nightmares. _

He closes his eyes, trying to fight against the crashing wave of anxiety that washes over him. If Beverly's nightmares came true… his will, too. And if that's the case—

It confirms that one of them isn't leaving Derry alive.

"Jesus, that's a fucked up thing to spring on us last minute," Richie says.

Eddie glances over at Richie and feels his heart clench. 

For most of his life, he was always bad at making decisions. He would overthink all of the options, blow the pros and cons out of proportion until he stressed himself out. Now, though, looking at Richie, he makes the easiest decision he's ever made and is at peace with it.

"I mean, they can't all be real,  _ right _ ?" Richie continues, shifting anxiously on his feet. "They're just nightmares. Everyone has nightmares."

"Richie, I've seen… I've seen every single one of us as we—"

Bev lets out a sob and covers her mouth with her hand. Ben moves closer to her and lightly touches her shoulder.

"Suh-Seen every one of us do what?" Bill asks, walking into the room.

Mike follows him in soon after.

"Go to where Stanley went," Bev finishes. "We  _ end  _ there, all of us. There's no— no stopping it."

"Why the fuck didn't the rest of us have these nightmares, then, huh?" Richie asks. "Doesn't make any fucking sense that it's just Bev."

"It does, actually," Mike says. "To a degree."

"What do you mean?" Ben asks.

"The deadlights."

Eddie feels sick.

"Oh  _ fuck _ , the deadlights," Richie breathes.

Beverly closes her eyes. She reaches for her purse and pulls out a cigarette and a lighter. Her hands are shaking as she lights it.

“She was the only one who got cah-caught in the deadlights that day,” Bill says, eyes distant.

“That day, yes,” Mike says.

“Shit,” Richie says. “Wait a fucking second.  _ Eddie _ .”

Eddie feels himself freeze.

“You got caught in them too, didn’t you?” Richie continues. “In Neibolt.”

“That’s ruh-right. When you got separated from us,” Bill says.

Beverly takes a long drag of her cigarette, a tear slipping down her cheek.

Even though his throat feels like it’s made of sandpaper, Eddie still manages to say something.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Did you have nightmares too?” Ben asks.

He can’t tell them. If he does, he  _ knows _ Richie won’t let him do what he needs to and the rest of them will try to stop it somehow too. The thing is, there’s no way of stopping it— he’s tried several times and it always ended the same.

So he lies.

“No, I— I had some nightmares of stuff I didn’t remember yet, but… nothing like Bev’s.”

“Bev was in the deadlights for at least a few hours,” Ben says. “Eddie was in them for, what, a few minutes?”

Richie nods.

“Yeah, Bill and I showed up a few minutes after we heard him screaming,” he says.

“Probably too short a time to see anything,” Mike agrees.

“But  _ definitely _ enough time to be tramatized as fuck.”

Eddie smiles a little bit, but it fades quickly.

“Yeah, you’re telling me," he says.

Bill looks at Beverly, then at the rest of them.

“If we duh-don’t kill It, we’re as good as dead,” he says. “We  _ have _ to do this.”

“Bill’s right,” Bev says, watching the wisps of smoke from the end of her cigarette curl up into the air. “There’s no other way.”

“I have a plan,” Mike says. “A plan that  _ will _ work if we’re all together.”

Richie lets out a sigh and makes his way over to the bar in the lounge. He starts opening cabinets.

“What’s your plan?” Ben asks.

Eddie looks at Mike. He looks so  _ tired _ . This whole time, he stayed in Derry, remembering, waiting. The thought makes Eddie feel awful. At least the rest of them got to forget and have an attempt at normalcy. Mike didn’t have that luxury.

“The ritual of Chüd,” he says. “It’s an old tribal ritual the Shokopiwah people used to fight It.”

Richie sets a shot glass and a bottle of bourbon down on the bar counter and gives Mike a disbelieving look.

“A fucking  _ ritual _ ? Are you kidding me?” he asks. “What is this, some shitty 80s horror movie?”

Eddie crosses his arms and starts pacing. He’s trying to piece together everything he’s seen in his nightmares, anything that might help.

“Juh-Just listen, Rich,” Bill says. “Mikey has a point.”

Richie pours himself a shot of bourbon and downs it. Mike gives Bill a grateful look and continues speaking.

“The Shokopiwah people had a saying— all living things must abide by the laws of the body they inhabit.  _ That’s _ how we kill It.”

Eddie remembers the first time they fought It in the cistern when they were kids. He recalls the way It changed shape continually, reflecting each of their fears like a twisted mirror. He stops pacing and looks to Mike.

“So we can kill It using the forms It takes?” he asks.

Mike smiles and points at Eddie.

“Exactly,” he says. “It uses those forms to lure us, to invoke  _ fear _ . We can use those forms against It.”

"How do we know It will die this time?" Ben asks.

"The ritual will reveal It's true form.  _ That's  _ when It will be at Its most vulnerable. That's when we kill It."

"Together," Bill says. "We have to duh-do it together."

"Yes. Which is why I need you all to stay. We made an oath."

Eddie knows Mike's right— he just doesn't want him to be. He wants to get out of Derry alive, wants to go on that trip with Richie.

"I'm staying," Bill says.

"Me too," Ben says.

Beverly takes a drag of her cigarette. Tears are still fresh on her cheeks, but the look in her eyes has hardened into determination. She blows out a slow cloud of smoke and looks at Mike.

"I'll stay."

Eddie takes a breath.

"I'm with you guys," he says.

Richie swears under his breath and pours himself another shot. Eddie glances over at him, watching as he downs the shot and makes a face.

"Yeah, okay. Fine," he says. " _ Shit _ , I'll stay."

"Then it's settled," Mike says. "We'll go over the details tomorrow. For now… I think all of us need some rest."

"Don't know how well I'm gonna sleep with that fuckin' eyeball haunting my nightmares, but I'll try," Richie comments.

Ben chuckles and shakes his head.

"I'm never looking at another fortune cookie the same again," he says.

"I don't think I'll be welcome back at the Jade," Mike says.

"Yeah, you royally  _ fucked  _ their shit up with that chair," Richie says.

Mike smiles and lets out a soft laugh.

"I did."

"And wuh-we'll royally fuck It's shit up tomorrow," Bill says.

Mike glances at Bill and his smile becomes softer.

"We will."

They all make their way back to their respective rooms. Bill lingers in the lobby with Mike, chatting with him before Mike can head back to his own house. Eddie watches Richie walk past him in the upstairs hallway, making his way to the room a few doors down. He smiles when he realizes he had been right the night before. The room with the light on  _ had _ been Richie's.

Eddie grabs his toiletry bag from the room and heads to the bathroom, trying to touch as little as possible as he gets ready. 

There's a small splotch of dried blood in the sink and he realizes it must have been his from last night. With a grimace, he takes a small wet wipe packet from his bag and opens it, scrubbing at the stain. It smears, and smells strongly of alcohol and iron. He takes the liberty of wiping off the rest of the sink with it before tossing it in the wastebasket.

Now maybe he can brush his teeth at the sink without wanting to throw up.

Bev is waiting in the hallway when he opens the door. She gives him a small smile.

"How bad is it?" she asks, nodding towards the inside of the bathroom.

Eddie smiles back, shrugging.

"Better now that I wet-wiped the sink," he says. "Still disgusting, though."

She laughs softly and walks past him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Night, Eddie."

"See you tomorrow, Bev."

He goes back into his room and closes the door, making a beeline for his suitcase. While he's sifting through the clothes, he feels his hand touch paper. His fingers grasp at it, pulling it out to find one of the letters he spent all night writing. He had almost forgotten.

It's Stan's.

Eddie feels his throat tighten, eyes stinging with tears. He'll never get to read it. Stan, who meant so much to Eddie and he didn't get to tell him. Hot tears slip down his cheeks, letter shaking in his hand.

There's a knock at the door.

His eyes widen and he quickly hides the letter back in the suitcase. He tries his best to wipe his eyes as he stands and goes to the door. Richie is standing there when he opens it.

"I—" he starts, then pauses, frowning. "Eds… hey, man, you okay?"

Eddie opens his mouth to say  _ I'm fine _ , but he can't do it. He just shakes his head, biting down on his lip to keep himself from crying. His hand drops from the doorknob and he takes a few steps backwards. Richie comes into the room, reaching back to slowly close the door behind him. The silence is deafening.

“Is it about…?” he asks, voice trailing off.

“Stan,” Eddie says, and that’s when he breaks down.

“Eddie…”

Richie lets out a sad sigh and closes the distance between them, pulling Eddie into a hug. He clings to Richie's shirt, whole body trembling with the force of his sobs.

“I miss him too,” Richie says, voice strained.

His arms tighten around Eddie, one of his hands moving up to gently cradle the back of his neck. It’s comforting, but the comfort of it makes everything hurt  _ worse _ . There’s a growing void in Eddie's chest, threatening to collapse in on itself and take all of him with it. He can tell Richie is crying too by the way his shoulders are shaking. They hold each other for a while, grieving, until the tears won’t come anymore.

“I just remembered something,” Eddie says, voice slightly muffled by Richie’s chest.

“What?” Richie asks, not letting go just yet.

“I took a picture of a cardinal for Stan,” he says.

“In Derry?”

Eddie realizes he’s not supposed to have remembered anyone before Mike called. He pulls away from the hug, wiping his eyes.

“No, back in New York. I took it before I remembered, but I think part of me knew who it was for.”

A crease forms in the middle of Richie’s eyebrows and he nods. His eyes are red and puffy behind the lenses of his glasses and there’s a wet spot on his shirt from Eddie’s tears.

“Oh, okay,” he replies, sniffling slightly. “Yeah, show me.”

Eddie walks over to the bedside table and picks up his phone. Richie makes his way to the bed and sits on the edge, watching Eddie expectantly. He’s joined by him on the bed soon after, their shoulders and knees touching.

“It’s a yellow cardinal,” Eddie says, handing his phone to Richie.

He takes it and stares at the photo for a long minute, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen a yellow one.”

“They’re extremely rare. Especially this far North.”

Richie nods and smiles a little bit, but it’s sad.

“He would have loved this, Eds,” he says.

Eddie’s heart sinks slightly and he looks at the picture again.

“Yeah, he really would have.”

Another wave of silence washes over them. Eddie locks his phone and sets it on the bed beside him as Richie lets out a heavy sigh. His shoulder brushes Eddie’s. They haven’t sat like this since they were kids. 

It feels the same, but different. Richie is still  _ Richie _ , but there’s a sadness to him now, Eddie notices. He feels it, too. The weight of growing up, the weight of remembering. Or of forgetting.

“Hey, Eds?” Richie asks.

“Yeah?”

Richie leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.

“Do you think the rest of Bev’s nightmares will come true?”

Eddie's eyes widen, his heart feeling like ice in his chest.

“Oh.”

“It’s just that—  _ fuck _ , are any of us still gonna be around by the end of all this shit? It’s  _ insane. _ ”

He sits up again and turns his head to look at Eddie.

“Don’t tell me you’re not freaked out because I  _ know _ you,” he continues. “You’re not buying into this ritual thing, right? No fuckin’ way it’s that easy.”

_ You’re right, _ he thinks.  _ It isn’t that easy. _

“Yeah, Rich, I’m freaked out,” he replies. “I’m  _ terrified _ , I just… I trust Mike.”

Richie huffs out a sigh.

“Yeah,  _ no _ — me too. I trust Mike with my life, but come on, man. This thing is way out of our league. We’re just  _ people _ , and It’s—”

“Otherworldly?” Eddie finishes.

“Exactly. Mike’s done his research, I’ll give him that, but I don’t think  _ anyone _ could know everything about how to kill It.”

“We have to try.”

Richie frowns.

“Promise me something, okay?” he asks.

Eddie meets his eyes.

“Anything.”

“Promise that after all this shit is over, we’re still gonna hang out like we said we would. Just get in my car and get the fuck out of here, wherever we wanna go.”

Eddie hates lying. He’s never been good at it, and it feels so  _ wrong _ to lie to someone he loves as much as he does Richie, but in the moment, it’s the kindest thing he can do. The corners of his mouth tug into a small smile.

“I promise.”

Richie's eyes search Eddie's and he's afraid he'll be able to tell he isn't being sincere, but Richie cracks a smile.

"It's a deal, then," he says, then his eyes wander over to the clock. "Jesus, it's getting late. I should go, we need our beauty sleep if we're gonna murder a clown tomorrow."

Eddie lets out a puff of a laugh.

"It'll be a miracle if I can sleep after all this."

"You and me both, Spaghetti," Richie says, standing up.

The nickname makes Eddie smile.

"I haven't heard that one in a while."

Richie actually grins and walks backwards towards the door, still looking at Eddie.

"Get used to it! I've got a lot of lost time to make up for, Eds Spagheds. You're gonna get bombarded with nicknames."

"Lucky me," Eddie says, and he means it.

"Oh, definitely, lucky y—"

Richie runs into the door.

" _ Fuck! _ " he hisses rubbing his back. "That doorknob fuckin' hurt."

Eddie stands up, trying not to laugh.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, man, I'm fine. I'm just forty and everything hurts  _ already  _ without me running into shit."

"Then don't walk backwards, dumbass," Eddie says, tone somewhat affectionate. 

"I wanted to look at you, sue me."

Eddie's heart jumps a little bit. His chest fills with warmth.

"Okay, Casanova," he jokes, feeling his cheeks and the tips of his ears grow hot.

Richie's eyebrows raise.

"Dude you  _ gotta _ stop flirting with me," he says. "Or else I'm gonna do it back and you don't want that."

Eddie laughs and shrugs.

"Try me."

" _ What?" _

"I said try me," he repeats, meeting Richie's gaze. "Not tonight, though. You're right, we need to sleep."

Richie looks surprised, but his expression is unreadable beyond that.

"Yeah, okay," he says, opening the door, still looking at Eddie. "See you tomorrow, Eds."

"Nigh, Rich."

Richie finally breaks eye contact and leaves, closing the door behind him. The moment he does, Eddie feels the loneliness sink in. He lets out a sigh and goes back to his suitcase, grabbing a pair of his pajamas.

Another night of feeling alone.

He gets changed and tries not to think about the time passing. With every second, every beat of his heart, he's closer to the end. It's  _ terrifying _ . His heart rate slowly climbs, and he can feel his panic levels rising.

There's another knock at the door.

Eddie freezes, mind immediately imagining the clown Itself waiting outside the door, teeth curled into an awful smile. He approaches the door, hand shaking as he turns the doorknob and opens it.

It's Richie again. He gives Eddie a sheepish smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Hey, um— sorry, I'm probably being fucking annoying, but…" he sighs. "There's no way I'm gonna be able to sleep in that room alone. Could I stay with you?"

Eddie stares, taking in the information. His heart's beating faster for a different reason now. The silence must make Richie uncomfortable because he shifts on his feet, eyes dropping to stare at the floorboards.

"Sorry, just thought— y'know, we could have a good old fashioned sleepover or something. Like we used to."

A rush of relief moves through Eddie so strongly that he almost feels intoxicated.

"We can do that, yeah," he says, moving aside so Richie can come in.

Richie lets out a sigh and steps into the room. Eddie closes the door and locks it.

"Thank fuck, this whole place is a  _ nightmare _ ."

He glances at Eddie again and raises an eyebrow.

“Are those…  _ silk  _ pajamas?” he asks.

Eddie glances down at himself, then back up at Richie.

“Yeah, why?”

“It really fits the whole ‘I work in New York City and drive a Cadillac’ vibe.”

“Oh, sure, and you don’t own expensive things, mister famous comedian?”

Richie laughs, nose crinkling. 

“Sure I do, but not  _ pajamas _ . I mean, what I’m wearing is it. Fuckin’... old ass T-shirt and lounge pants. Perfect.”

“You want to hear something that will blow your mind?”

“Oh, blowing sounds fun. Shoot.”

“I own Gucci loafers.”

Richie’s eyes go wide before he starts laughing so hard he snorts. Knowing  _ he’s _ the one who made him laugh like that makes Eddie feel incredible. He tries to shush him, smiling.

“You’re gonna wake everyone up!” he scolds.

“Are you fucking  _ serious _ ? Gucci  _ motherfucking  _ loafers?” Richie wheezes.

Eddie’s smile widens, forming dimples in his cheeks.

“Okay, fuck off, I shouldn’t have told you. You’re gonna be up all night laughing.”

Richie makes his way to the other side of the bed, still laughing softly to himself.

“Maybe, but you’re smiling too.”

"It's because I missed your dumb ass," Eddie says, pulling the covers back on the bed.

"Awww Eduardo, that's sweet," Richie says, getting under the covers. "Didn't know you liked my ass that much."

Eddie gets into bed and grabs his pillow, giving Richie a gentle smack with it.

"Hey!" Richie half-yelps. "Shit, you're gonna kill me before the fuckin' clown can."

He knows Richie is kidding, and that he couldn't possibly know why, but the joke makes Eddie freeze. His eyes sting slightly.

"Eds? You okay?"

Eddie looks away so Richie can't see he's on the verge of tears and reaches over to shut off the lamp. The room is enveloped in darkness. He settles down into the bed, laying with his back to Richie.

" _ Fuck _ , Eddie, I'm sorry," Richie says, and Eddie feels him shift closer.

"You're not gonna die," Eddie says, trying to keep his voice from cracking. "None of you are."

Richie's hand finds Eddie's upper arm and gives it a gentle squeeze.

"None of  _ us _ are," he corrects.

Eddie feels a tear slip across the bridge of his nose and hit the pillow. He doesn't answer.

"Eds…"

Richie squeezes his arm again, shifting his body a little, as if he's uneasy. Then he shifts close enough that his chest is against Eddie's back, arm sliding around his waist to hold him. Eddie relaxes into his touch, closing his eyes. He's shaking.

"We're gonna make it, okay? I'll fuckin' make sure of it," Richie says.

_ I wish you were right. God, do I wish. _

"Okay," he manages to choke out.

"Hey. I'm here, it's fine. You're fine."

Eddie feels the warm tickle of Richie's breathing on his neck, hears the softness in his voice. He cherishes the closeness, memorizes how it makes his heartbeat calm, how his anxieties dissolve almost to nothing.

They don't say anything else. After a while, Richie's breathing evens out and Eddie can tell he's fallen asleep.

"Richie?" he asks quietly, just to make sure.

No answer.

Eddie bites his lip, lets out a little sigh.

"I love you," he says to the empty air.

Saying it out loud makes him feel lighter. His hand moves to hold Richie's where it rests at his stomach and he dozes off into a dreamless sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You are so worthy of everything  
> I have to give  
> But I burn with feeble offerings  
> Nothing to sustain  
> Fan against the flame  
> Oh what I've made  
>   
> So take all of me  
> Please take all of me"  
>   
> — "Unworthy" by Vancouver Sleep Clinic

Eddie wakes up to his phone buzzing on the bedside table. He opens his eyes, all of his senses slowly coming to him. There's lines of sunlight on the wall from where it peeks through the gaps in the curtains. Richie's arms are still around his waist, except now his cheek is also resting on Eddie's shoulder and their legs are slightly tangled. Flustered heat rises to Eddie's face.

His phone goes off again. Richie groans, but doesn't move. Eddie reaches an arm out to grab it from the table, glancing at the screen. The group chat has a few new messages.

**Mikey**

Meet me in the Townhouse lobby- we're taking a field trip to our old stomping grounds.

**Billy**

The Barrens?

**Mikey**

One and the same!

**Bev**

are we walking there?

**Benny**

Might as well, right?

Eddie shifts carefully, trying not to wake Richie yet. He slowly types a response.

**Eddie**

Sounds good to me!

**Bev**

morning eddie!

**Eddie**

Morning :)

**Billy**

Someone might have to wake Rich up, if he hasn’t responded yet, he’s probably still asleep…

**Eddie**

Yeah, he is. I’ll wake him up in a second, are we leaving now?

**Mikey**

I’m ready when y’all are!

**Benny**

You’re with Richie now, Ed?

The question makes him painfully aware of Richie’s arms around him, of the soft sound of his breathing.

**Eddie**

Yeah. Both of us were freaked out last night… couldn’t sleep alone.

**Billy**

I know the feeling. Took me hours to fall asleep.

Going to need to stop for coffee before we hit the Barrens.

**Mikey**

We can do that!

Richie shifts, arms tightening slightly around Eddie before his body tenses.

“Whahdafuck…?” he mumbles.

Eddie sets his phone down next to his pillow and lightly touches Richie’s arm with his hand.

“Rich?” he asks softly. “Are you awake?”

“ _Eddie_?”

“Yeah?”

“Jesus,” he sighs, sounding relieved. “Sorry, I’m fuckin’ blind right now without my glasses.”

There’s a pause, then Richie’s pulling away from him as if he’s just now realized the position they’re in.

“ _Shit_ , I’m sorry—”

Eddie grabs one of his hands before he can move away completely.

“Wait, you don’t have to— it’s okay.”

Richie hesitates, and Eddie wonders if he’s said something wrong.

“Really? You’re fine with it?” Richie asks. “It’s not weird?”

Eddie shifts to lay on his back, turning his head so he can look at Richie. He’s still grasping his hand, eyebrows furrowing.

“Weird? Why would it be weird?”

Part of him is worried Richie doesn’t want to be close to him, that he only held him all night because he pitied him. Richie bites his lip.

“I dunno, because we’re two forty-year-old men?”

Oh, so it’s _that_. Eddie sighs.

“Yeah… two forty-year-old men who’ve known each other for over thirty years. I think we’ve earned the right to cuddle, Rich.”

Richie raises his eyebrows.

“Well, okay. Damn,” he says. “Eddie Kaspbrak, cuddle warrior.”

Eddie snorts.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Richie grins and moves closer to Eddie again, resting his cheek on his shoulder, arm draped across his stomach. It makes Eddie’s breath catch in his throat. He feels lightheaded.

There’s a buzzing sound as Eddie’s phone vibrates again.

“God, do we have to get up _already?_ ” Richie groans.

Eddie grabs his phone and moves it as best he can so Richie can see it when he unlocks the screen.

**Benny**

I’m guessing Eddie is having a hard time waking Richie up…?

**Billy**

He was always grumpy as hell in the morning at sleepovers.

**Mikey**

Right, and the last one to wake up

**Bev**

poor eddie...

“Oh, they can go fuck themselves, I’m a goddamned _peach_ in the morning.”

Richie reaches for Eddie’s phone and he tries to pull it away.

“Gimme the phone—”

“No, let me respond.”

They struggle for a moment, Eddie barely keeping the phone out of Richie’s grasp. He sits up slightly and reaches further, fingertips brushing Eddie’s wrist.

“Let me _see_ it, _Edward_ . You fuckin’ _turd_.”

“Use your own fucking phone—”

Richie leans half of his body on top of Eddies, making him grunt. It gives him just enough distance to finally grab the phone.

“Jesus _christ_ , Rich,” Eddie wheezes, “my fucking ribcage.”

“Sorry,” Richie replies.

He lays back down beside Eddie, phone extremely close to his face so he can see the screen. Eddie sighs and rolls over to peek at what he’s typing.

**Eddie**

;

Cf

Fly y gc

**Benny**

???

**Eddie**

Ftd

Cc mcv g

**Bev**

i think richie got to him LOL

**Billy**

Eddie? Are you good?

**Eddie**

Sorry, he’s not here, you’re talking to the GRUMPY GUY

Fuck you

**Mikey**

Oh boy.

**Benny**

At least he’s awake?

**Billy**

Yeah, but at what cost?

**Eddie**

You’re on thin fucking ice, billiam

Jesus i hate autocaps

“What’s wrong with autocaps?” Eddie asks.

Richie lets out a long sigh.

“Makes me feel like I’m writing a buisness email instead of a fuckin’ text.”

“Oh, okay.”

**Mikey**

Glad you’re awake, Rich!

Meet us in the lobby as soon as you’re ready

**Bev**

bill and i are already here!

**Benny**

I’ll be there soon too

**Eddie**

How the hell are you all so perky right now?? I hate this

Also i just noticed eddie’s names for you in his phone

Eddie sighs.

**Benny**

What are they?

**Eddie**

Benny, billy, bev, and mikey.

**Billy**

Aw

**Bev**

that’s cute!!

“Richie—”

**Eddie**

WAIT. I wanna see what mine is hold on

“Richie, don’t you fucking _dare_ —”

He tries to reach the phone, but Richie rolls away from him and starts scrolling up in the group chat, looking for his name. Eddie gives up and lays back down with a huff.

“Holy fuck,” Richie breathes. “Oh my _god_.”

“Don’t.”

“You put a little _smiley face_ next to my name? That’s so fucking _cute_.”

Eddie feels his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Yeah, well, it’s because you make me smile, _asshole_. When you’re not annoying the shit out of me.”

Richie laughs.

“Excuse me, I make you smile even when I’m annoying the shit out of you,” he says.

He types something quickly into the phone before handing it back. Eddie rolls his eyes and reads the screen.

**Eddie**

Breaking news: eddie is cute as fuck

We already knew that though

My name is “rich :)” by the way

**Bev**

that is cute, you’re right

Eddie sighs.

“Now my cover’s blown,” he says.

Richie sits up and moves to the edge of the bed to stand. The absence of his body next to Eddie’s makes him feel cold.

“What cover? You’ve always been a big fuckin’ softie,” Richie says, grabbing his glasses off the table on his side of the bed and putting them on.

Eddie stares at the ceiling, thinking about how he doesn’t want to leave this room. Once he does, everything will start moving again. Being here with Richie made everything slow down, made him forget how little time he has left. His phone vibrates on his chest and he looks at it again.

**Rich :)**

be there soon, but we better be getting coffee like billiam said

or i WILL be grumpy

**Mikey**

Sure thing, Rich! See you two soon.

He locks his phone and sets it on the table, letting out a small sigh.

“You okay, Eds?” Richie asks. “You’re being quiet.”

“Yeah, just… don’t want to deal with today.”

Richie doesn’t say anything at first and Eddie turns his head to look at him. He looks sad. Tired.

“You and me both, Spaghetti,” he says, sighing before heading towards the door. “I’ll see you downstairs.”

“Yeah. See you.”

The door closes behind Richie and the room immediately feels lonely. He didn’t know what he was thinking, wanting to stay in the moment like that. It’s cruel, thinking about what could be when he knows he won’t live to see it.

But he can’t linger— there are more important things than self-pity. He gets up out of bed and gets ready on autopilot.

The rest of the losers are waiting in the lobby when he descends the stairs. Bev turns from her conversation with Richie and smiles at him.

“Hey Eddie! Ready to go?” she asks.

She always did brighten the room with her smile. Eddie’s glad to see that hasn’t changed.

“Yeah, I’m good to go. Are we stopping for coffee?”

“We _were_ going to get some shitty coffee from the machine over there,” Richie says, nodding in the direction of the lounge, “but Billy here insisted we get some _real_ coffee… whatever the fuck that means.”

Bill rolls his eyes.

“Do yuh-you have _any_ idea how gross motel lobby coffee is?”

“Man, this is fuckin’ _Derry_ , do you think they have some high-end coffee shop around here or something?”

Ben chuckles softly to himself.

“Rich does have a point,” he says.

“Is there a good shop around here, Mike?” Bev asks.

“I usually have library coffee,” Mike says, shrugging. “Step up from motel coffee, but… not the best, if I’m being honest. It does the job, though.”

“Motel coffee is usually pretty strong,” Eddie says.

“Which is why it tuh-tastes horrible,” Bill says.

“We’re not looking for good, right?” Ben asks. “Just something to wake us up.”

“Exactly,” Richie says. “Suck it, Billy boy! Bad coffee time for you.”

“I don’t want to hear yuh-you say ‘suck it, Billy boy’ ever again, Rich,” Bill says, trying to keep his expression serious.

First, the corner of his mouth twitches up, and then he’s smiling and breaking into a laugh. Richie grins and wraps an arm around Bill’s shoulders, pulling him in against his chest and ruffling his hair. 

“Aw, you love me, Billy!” he says.

Bill yelps slightly in protest, trying halfheartedly to push him away. Beverly starts laughing.

“Get him, Rich!” she says.

Mike lets out a genuine belly laugh. Ben looks from Beverly to Richie and Bill, smiling softly.

“Rich, I’m guh-gonna step on your foot, I _swear_ ,” Bill says, still struggling.

“Okay, okay, chill the fuck out,” Richie says, finally letting go of him. “ _Someone_ needs some shitty ass motel coffee. He’s _grumpy._ ”

“Fuck you,” Bill says, but he’s laughing.

He lightly gives Richie’s arm a push, which makes Richie almost giggle.

_It’s as if we never left,_ Eddie thinks. _We’re still those dumb kids that would bike race each other on Up-Mile Hill and swim in the quarry._ The thought warms his heart and makes him grateful he’s been lucky enough to know them.

“Alright, we should get going,” Mike says, still smiling. “We can grab that coffee on the way out.”

They walk towards the Costello Avenue Market together, coffees in hand, to where the small bridge stretches over the stream below. Up ahead, the Standpipe looms, and Eddie feels a twinge of pain as he remembers the birdbath there. One by one, they throw their half-empty coffee cups away and climb over the bridge’s rail, trekking into the woods below. 

It’s like entering into a memory. They’ve done this before— walked through these rows of trees in a line; Eddie remembers they used to pretend to be on an expedition through a dangerous stretch of jungle, or pass a story down the line and see how messed up the plot was by the time the last person heard it. Now, they all make idle chat. Old jokes being thrown around, lingering looks and small smiles.

“We should be there soon,” Mike calls back.

“Where are we headed?” Bev asks. “I’m remembering things, but… I don’t think I’m all there yet.”

“Me too,” Bill says.

“Add me to that list,” Richie says, raising his hand.

“It’s coming back to me,” Ben says. “Slowly.”

Eddie glances around, trying to piece together their surroundings. It’s been twenty-seven years since he’s laid eyes on these woods, but they’re still as familiar as the last time he saw them. He never did lose his great sense of direction. If they’re headed the direction he thinks they are...

“I think I might know where,” he says.

“Oh yeah?” Richie asks. “Do tell us, Eds.”

“The clubhouse,” he says.

“The _clubhouse_ ,” Ben says. “That’s right!”

“You built that for us duh-didn’t you, Ben?” Bill asks.

“I did, yeah. I did.”

“Shit, man, I forgot about that,” Richie says. “The fuckin’ clubhouse! I loved that place.”

“So did I,” Beverly agrees.

“We all did,” Mike says. “Being there will help jog your memories more. At least, I hope it will.”

“We’re definitely close to the entrance,” Ben says, looking around.

“Wasn’t it hidden?” Bev asks.

“It was,” Eddie says. “Benny always knew where the hatch was, though.”

“I think I still do,” Ben says. “Hold on, stop. We’re close.”

Mike stops and smiles back at Ben, looking a little relieved. He must be on the right track, Eddie thinks.

“Yeah, it should be right around here, actually,” Ben says. “I recognize this tree. The roots always looked like fingers.”

“ _That’s_ comforting,” Richie comments, giving Eddie a side glance.

Eddie smiles to himself. Ben walks slowly past the tree, eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“It was somewhere around he—”

Ben’s voice cuts off into a yelp as the brush gives way under his feet, sending him crashing through a hole. He falls out of their view with a resounding _thud_ moments later.

“Ben?!” Bev says, alarmed.

All of them carefully take a few steps closer. Panic builds in Eddie’s chest.

“Found it,” comes Ben’s feeble reply from below.

Everyone lets out a collective sigh of relief. Mike steps closer to the hole.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yeah, fine!" Ben answers, voice a little strained. "Just got the wind knocked out of me."

"How's it luh-look down there?" Bill asks.

"Like a time capsule… you should come down. The ladder still looks good."

They all look at each other. Bill is the first to step forwards, carefully maneuvering himself around the hole in the ground and finding the ladder. He climbs down, disappearing from view. One after the other, they make their way down, until finally they're all standing together, half-hunched under the clubhouse's roof.

" _Jesus_ , I feel like a kid again," Richie says, glancing over at the faded posters stuck to the wall. 

"Your first project was for us," Bev says, smiling, then she looks as if she remembers something. "That program in Bar Harbor… did you ever go?"

Ben looks sheepish and his cheeks redden slightly.

"You remember that, huh?" he asks. "Yeah, I did."

"This place was our refuge," Mike says. "Some of the best memories I have are here."

"Muh-me too," Bill says. "I came here all the time that summer."

Eddie glances around, his gaze falling on the dusty hammock draped across two of the beams. He smiles.

"Yeah. It really was the best," he says.

Richie follows his line of sight.

"Oh shit," he breathes. "Think we'll still fit in there, Eds?"

"No way, we'll break it."

"You'll break the whole clubhouse," Bev jokes.

Richie holds a hand to his heart and looks mock insulted.

"My dear Mrs. Scarlett, you have wounded me!" he gasps. "My Sasquatch heart has been pierced!"

Bev laughs and gives Richie a playful shove.

"You're such a dummy," she says affectionately.

Richie grins and turns to Eddie. He already knows what's coming.

"Y'know, Eds, you could probably fit on there by yourself—"

"Don't you dare say it."

"—since you're tiny."

"God dammit, Richie," Eddie says, pinching the bridge of his nose to try and cover the smile he's holding back. 

"What's wrong?" Richie asks, smiling mischievously. "I thought you _wanted_ time on the hammock."

"Yeah, when we were kids and you were fucking hogging it."

"Well, now's your chance! I can't hog it anymore," Richie does a grandiose motion towards the hammock and bows. "Your chariot awaits, Sir Kaspbrak!"

Eddie scrunches his nose, attempting to look annoyed, but the small puff of a laugh leaves him and he breaks into a smile.

"Shut up, Richie," he says, not a bit of malice behind it.

Richie lifts himself back up into standing position, grinning. He fixes his glasses, which were starting to slide down the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, guh-guys," Bill says from the other side of the clubhouse. "Look what I found."

He's holding a tin container. There's masking tape plastered to the front and a label written in black ink.

"For use of losers only," Bev reads, hand reaching out to lightly touch the name underneath it. "Stan."

They all move in close, forming a half-circle around Bill. He looks around at all of them and slowly pops the lid of the container open. His forehead creases with confusion, then relaxes as he realizes what he's looking at.

"They're shower caps," he says, reaching inside and slowly pulling one out.

"Spiders," Ben says. "He didn't want us to get spiders in our hair… right?"

Mike smiles, but it's somber.

"That's right," he says.

Eddie looks from Mike to the container, chest aching. He reaches out and takes one for himself, the material familiar between his fingers. 

"I wonder what he was like," Bev says, staring. "Do you think he was still the same, like we are?"

"Yeah, I think he was," Richie says, voice strained. "The best, y'know? Like always."

Eddie swallows the ache in his throat and slips the shower cap over his head. He can almost see Stan as a kid, handing him the cap with a small smile on his face.

"We huh-have to do this," Bill says. "For Juh-Georgie, for Stan… for all of us."

There's an understanding silence. Richie is the first to break it.

"So what's this ritual, Mike?" he asks, voice soft.

Mike lets out a small sigh.

"I'll explain back outside," he says. "Bring one of the shower caps with us."

Eddie slips the one he's wearing off his head and gently tucks it into his jacket pocket. They all climb the ladder again, back up into the bright daylight of the Barrens. 

Mike waits until they’re all in the clearing before speaking.

“This ritual, it needs a sacrifice— a token of sorts, that has to be willingly given,” he explains.

“A token?” Ben asks. “Like an object?”

“Exactly that. Something important to you,” he pauses, looking at each of them. “Do you remember what happened to us that summer after Neibolt?”

Eddie remembers. His mother didn’t let him see any of his friends after he broke his arm. He spent his time going between his house and the pharmacy, and if he didn’t come back home within a certain amount of time, his mother drove all around town looking for him. A lot of nights that summer he spent crying alone in his room, wishing he were anywhere else. His house was _worse_ than Neibolt, he had decided. And the _nightmares..._

His eyes widen. He had them back then, too, when he was a kid. Those were the night terrors his mother worried about. The memory of them must have faded with his memory of Derry.

“We had a fuh-fight,” Bill says, glancing at Richie. “We all stopped talking.”

Richie looks back at Bill, frowning slightly.

“Yeah… you punched me,” he says. “I remember that.”

Bill presses his lips together, looking remorseful.

“Still suh-sorry about that.”

“We were both in the wrong, man,” Richie says, shrugging. “Don’t worry about it.”

Bill nods and gives him a grateful smile.

“We were all separated from each other,” Mike says. “We have to remember what that was like so we can come together. Be _stronger_.”

“We have to go back,” Beverly says slowly, gaze distant. “Face our pasts.”

“Yes. Each of us will have to face our pasts alone. We can regroup back at the Townhouse.”

“Wait, hold on— _alone_?” Richie asks. “That’s dumb.”

“Yeah,” Eddie speaks up, “I feel like going off alone is a bad idea, considering.”

“Considering the fuckin’ murder clown after us, yeah,” Richie finishes.

“Your memories will return faster if you face this alone, like you did that summer,” Mike says.

“We guh-got you, Mike,” Bill says.

Mike smiles slightly and nods.

“Okay,” he says. “When all of you have found your token, come back to the Townhouse and we can plan our next move from there. If you need anything, call me. Or text the group chat.”

“I know where I’m starting,” Ben says, sighing.

He turns and walks off in the direction that leads back towards the middle of town.

“I do too,” Bev says, giving a little wave. “Good luck, guys.”

She turns and heads off in the same direction as Ben, though she walks a little ways behind him.

Bill shoves his hands in his pockets and gives the rest of them an apologetic look.

“I know where I have to go too,” he says, a dismal look in his eyes.

“Best of luck, Bill,” Mike says.

He gives Mike a small smile and turns to start walking in the direction Eddie remembers as the way they often went to get to Bill’s house. His heart sinks at the realization. _Georgie,_ he thinks.

“I’m headed back to the library to do some more research,” Mike says. “Once everyone is back at the Townhouse, I’ll head right over.”

“You got it, Mikey,” Richie says, trying to sound lighthearted, but Eddie can tell it’s forced.

Mike smiles at him, then looks to Eddie, expression softening somewhat before he starts walking. They’re the only two left now, Eddie thinks, and there’s no way he’s letting Richie go alone. That thought worries him, though. Is he being too overprotective? Is he smothering him like his mother did— like Myra did?

“Everything okay, Eds?” Richie asks.

Eddie comes out of his thoughts and looks up at Richie, nervous.

“Yeah, I’m—”

“Eddie,” he says softly. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

He knows Richie is right.

"I think I already have my token," he says.

Richie raises his eyebrows.

"Really?"

"Yeah, when I first came to Derry, I started panicking. I left my inhaler back in New York, so I went to Center Street to get a new one."

Richie tilts his head slightly, studying him.

"Why didn't you say something before?"

"I was embarrassed. All of you know I don't actually need it, I use it like a crutch."

"Hey, it's fine, Eds. Old habits are hard to break, I know that from experience. I've been trying to quit smoking for ten years now. Just gotta push through, right?"

Eddie smiles a little.

"Right."

They stand in content silence for a moment, comforted by each other's presence.

"You can tag along with me if you want," Richie says. "For the token thing."

Relief floods Eddie's chest. If Richie _wants_ him to tag along, it shouldn't be a problem.

"Yeah, I'd like that," he says. "Don't exactly want to be at the Townhouse alone."

"Can't fuckin' blame you for that. Come on, I know where we have to go."

He starts walking in the same direction Ben went, towards the center of town. Eddie follows.

"Where?" he asks.

"The arcade. I spent like my whole summer there, dude. Swear I got carpal tunnel from how much I played Street Fighter."

Eddie laughs softly.

"Of course."

"Hey, man, my summer was fuckin' boring without you. Had to entertain myself somehow."

"I know, that summer was awful. I only saw daylight to go to the drugstore."

Richie glances over at him as they walk, frowning.

"I saw you, y'know. That summer. I was walking to the arcade one day and you were headed to the drugstore, I guess."

Eddie's eyebrows furrow and he turns his head to meet Richie's eyes.

"Why didn't you say something?"

Richie shrugs and looks at the ground.

"I dunno, guess I thought you hated me. Or that you'd get in trouble if your mom saw me near you."

"Rich," Eddie says, sighing. "She would have been mad, yeah, but I didn't hate you. I don't think I ever could."

The corners of Richie's mouth quirk up slightly, but not much.

"Sure, you say that _now_ ," he says. "But… I'm pretty sure it's my fault It got you in the first place, in Neibolt."

"No way, it was my fault for stopping in the hallway. I should have followed you guys."

" _No_ , we should have been more aware. I should have known you weren't there. I was just— _scared_. Too scared to think straight."

"We all were."

Richie is silent. The leaves and branches crunch under their feet as they walk. Eddie feels brave and reaches over to interlace his fingers with Richie's.

"It's not your fault, Rich," he says, giving Richie's hand a small squeeze.

He can't read Richie's expression but he looks grateful, maybe a little relieved. Richie squeezes his hand back.

"Thanks," he says quietly. "You always know what I need to hear."

"Of course I do—"

_I love you._

"—you're my best friend."

Richie's smile widens.

"Yeah. You're mine, too."

They hold hands for the rest of the walk to the arcade. Eddie thinks he sees a few older townsfolk give them looks, but he ignores them. He spent enough of his life feeling caged. Holding Richie's hand makes him feel safe.

When they read the boarded up doors, Richie lets go of his hand and reaches out to tug on them. They jerk open with an ear-splitting squeak. Richie flinches. Eddie clenches his teeth and squints.

"Ouch," he says.

"My eyesight is already shit enough," Richie replies. "I don't need to go deaf too, _fuck._ "

Eddie leans slightly in, glancing around, Richie following suit.

"That's _disgusting_ ," Eddie gags. "It smells like something died in there."

"Maybe something did," Richie says, stepping inside.

"Great," Eddie says.

He looks behind them to make sure no one's watching before following Richie inside. It's like a time capsule. There's still posters on the walls for movies, each advertising _Coming Soon_ for a date long passed. Judging by the year listed, the arcade closed down in the late 90s and hasn't been touched since. That explains the _copious_ amounts of dust and grime.

"Oh, look at that," Richie says nonchalantly. "You were right."

"What?"

Eddie steps over to where Richie is, following where he's pointing. The bloated corpse of a rat is sprawled out in front of the _House of the Dead_ cabinet.

"Dude, that's so fucking _gross_ ," he says, looking away. "Don't go near that thing, it's probably diseased."

"That's a shame, I was totally going to use the dead rat for my token," Richie says, deadpan. "Fits my childhood. Smelly and contained completely inside an arcade."

"Rich, I'm gonna throw up just _thinking_ about you picking that thing up."

"Yeah, _no_ , me too. I can't smell this shit anymore," he says, walking further into the building. 

Eddie follows, partially glad there's sporadic holes in the ceiling, otherwise they'd be in the dark even though the sun is still out. He looks around more, careful to stay close to Richie. Something catches his eye. In the back left corner, there's a photo booth. He remembers all of them squeezing inside, laughing hysterically as they bumped elbows and accidentally stepped on toes. A smile tugs at Eddie's lips.

"Hey, Rich—" he says, looking behind him.

Richie is further down the hall, back to Eddie. For a moment he feels like he's a kid in Neibolt again, watching Richie and Bill disappear behind a closing door. A pulse of fear surges through him and he walks quickly towards where Richie is, not wanting to get separated.

"Richie," he says again.

He turns, blinking.

"Huh? Sorry, I spaced out," he says. "I, um— I found it."

Eddie looks at the machine they're standing in front of.

"Street Fighter."

"Yeah," Richie says, voice cracking. "I found this too."

He holds up an arcade token.

"Funny, huh? An actual token for a token."

Eddie looks from the token to Richie's face and he can tell he isn't okay. His voice is strained and he looks like he's holding back tears. _Did he remember something like I did at the drugstore?_

"Are you okay?" he asks, meeting his eyes.

"Yeah, Eds, I'm—" his voice cracks again. _"Fuck_. No. I'm not. This town is a fucking nightmare."

Eddie doesn't know what he remembered, but he knows it's bad. He reaches his hand out to hold Richie's free hand, giving it a small squeeze.

"Yeah, I know," he says.

Richie stares at him for a moment, biting his lip. It looks like he wants to say something, but it takes him a good minute to actually open his mouth.

"Eddie, I'm—"

A loud _thump_ sounds from behind Eddie and both of them jump.

" _Jesus!_ What the _fuck_ was that?!" Richie shouts.

Eddie turns around, gripping Richie's hand tighter.

"I don't know," he says. "But it sounded like—"

The photo booth moves with another loud _thump_. Then it starts shaking.

"Oh god, oh _fuck_ —"

Richie moves backwards, tugging Eddie along with him.

Flashes of light start coming from inside the booth and Eddie realizes it's taking _pictures_. The shaking becomes more violent and the machine starts spewing photo slips. They fling into the air on loop, floating to the ground, landing every which way. A few land on the floor in front of them and Eddie's heart drops into his stomach so fast he feels nauseous.

They're all pictures of Richie, dead. Eddie recognized them instantly— they’re the same images he saw in his nightmares. It _knows._

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck—_ that’s _me_ , that’s _my_ fucking face!” Richie says, gripping Eddie’s hand tighter.

Eddie’s throat is so dry it feels like sandpaper, but he manages to speak.

“Richie we have to get out of here _now—_ ”

The booth _thumps_ loudly again then shudders, becoming still. Both of them freeze and stare, their hands shaking in each other's grasp. Slowly, something starts leaking from the bottom of the machine. Eddie scrambles backwards, pulling Richie with him when he realizes it's _blood_.

"Fucking _run_!" he yells.

"Yeah, _fucking shit_!"

They start sprinting towards the back exit. The hallway of game cabinets seems longer than before— it's _impossibly_ stretching out in front of them, door just as far away as it was when they started.

"What the _fuck_ ! We're so _screwed,_ jesus christ, we're gonna—"

Richie's hand tugs on Eddie's so strongly it stops him mid-sprint and almost makes him fall backwards.

"What—"

He feels the tugging continue and looks behind him to see Richie, wide-eyed, trying desperately to keep a hold of his hand. Eddie feels it too; there's a force pulling them in separate directions.

"Eds I can't hold on," Richie says, voice thin with panic.

Their hands are slipping. Eddie knows he's right, he can't hold on much longer either. His eyes sting with tears.

"Richie, don't let It get to you," he says desperately. " _Don't—_ "

Something pulls both of them again and their grip on each other comes undone. Their fingers brush for a split second before Eddie feels himself careening backwards at a speed he can't comprehend. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "I am running into the fire,  
> Tonight, this war is easily lost.  
> 'Cause I can't cut these wires,  
> And sparks will turn into,  
> A fire, a fire.  
> I am running into the fire.  
>   
> — "Thoughts" by Michael Schulte

Eddie’s back and head hit wood so hard it blacks out his vision. All he can think is _fuck, oh shit,_ _I'm_ _in Neibolt again, I'm in that kitchen again and this time the fucking clown is really going to eat me._

He opens his eyes to find, with horror, that he's in the basement of Center Street drugstore. The wooden thing he's against is the table his mother was strapped to in his memory. His breath comes in quick puffs as he begins to panic. He tries to move his arms. They're not strapped down,  _ thank god they're not strapped down _ .

Something shifts in his peripheral vision and he turns to see the grimy curtain to the room slowly opening. He watches it with wide eyes, too scared to move. It opens all the way, revealing an empty hallway. His eyebrows furrow, body tense. It's  _ definitely  _ a trick, but he has to get out of there somehow. He has to find Richie.

_ Fuck, please be okay. _

Eddie stands up from the table, cautiously making his way down the hall. His shoe crunches on something and he looks down to see a crushed glass bottle of— god, is that  _ IV fluid? _

He flinches, stepping around the seeping liquid to keep going, watching where he's stepping. His lungs feel tight with panic. There's a loud metal crash behind him and he jumps, running into a blood bag that's hanging from a stand. He gags as it hits his cheek and feels  _ warm.  _ His entire body flinches away from it as he closes his eyes.

"I can't fucking do this," he wheezes. "It's not real, it's not  _ real _ , stop it."

His eyes squeeze tighter closed, willing everything to go away, hoping and  _ praying _ that he'll open his eyes and he'll be back in the arcade with Richie. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

Eddie opens his eyes. The blood bag is gone and so are the IV stands, but he's still standing in the drugstore's basement. How the hell was he going to explain this to Mr. Keene? He didn't enter the store from the front door.

Another noise comes from somewhere behind him and he turns, tensing his leg muscles to get ready to run. There's a small squeaking sound. Eddie's gaze moves towards the noise and he spots a mouse on the shelf, pushing its way through some boxes. His stomach clenches.  _ Of course _ the place he got prescriptions from for most of his childhood has a pest problem. He makes a face and seriously considers reporting Mr. Keene to the health inspectors before he turns back around.

The leper's standing right in front of him, so close his nose almost touches It's chin. He lets out a yelp and trips backwards. It grabs his shoulders, gurgling. The stench that comes from It’s mouth is so putrid it makes Eddie feel lightheaded. Bile rises in the back of his throat as he reaches his hands out to try and push It off of him. The clothes It’s wearing are damp from the oozing sores on It’s skin and Eddie already wants to scrub his hands until they bleed. 

It leans on his hands harder, tongue lolling out of It’s mouth, trying to reach his face. Eddie stumbles sideways into the shelves, shoulder aching. His breath is coming in short gasps, hands shaking and tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He  _ has _ to get out of here, he has to live, he has to find Richie, make sure he’s okay—

The leper’s fingers find his neck, then his face. Eddie gags and turns his head away. With all the strength he has left, he moves his hands to the leper’s throat, trying to force it away from him.

_ I’m going to make it. _

His hands squeeze It’s throat, arms shaking.

_ Fuck you, I’m going to live. _

He feels something pulsing under his palms. The leper’s hands fall away from his face to try and grasp at his arms.

_ You’re not going to win. _

Eddie’s not being held against the shelf anymore. He straightens himself and pushes back against the leper, hands still around It’s throat.

_ Fuck you, you’re not taking me. _

It stumbles backwards and Eddie advances until It’s back slams into the shelf on the opposite side of the hall, dislodging some pill bottles that scatter to the floor. The bandaged half-rotting hands are feebly grasping at Eddie’s wrists.

_ You’re not taking him, either. _

The pulse under Eddie’s hands is slowing and he realizes that's It’s heart. He squeezes harder and It wheezes.

“Fuck you,” he says.

It’s arms fall limply to It’s sides, pulse becoming weaker.

“ _ Fuck y—” _

A stream of vile sludge spews from the leper’s slackened jaws, coating Eddie’s face and shirt. Some of it gets in his mouth and his stomach churns  _ violently _ . He gags and turns his head to vomit on the floor, the leper’s fluids still cascading against the side of his face. The spew slows to a stop and Eddie slips backwards away from it all, frantically attempting to wipe the slurry from his face and neck. He spits on the floor a few times before glancing up to find that It’s gone completely. The foul liquid covering him and the floor is the only sign It was ever there.

“Oh god,” he breathes, trying not to throw up again. “What the  _ fuck! _ ”

Eddie turns and runs towards the stairs. He ignores the strange look Mr. Keene gives him from behind the counter, ignores the stares from the few people in the aisles at how quickly he’s headed for the door. All he can think about is getting out of there and contacting Richie. His hands grasp at the door’s handle, pulling.

It doesn’t budge.

He pulls again, more frantically, thoughts racing.

_ It’s still here, oh fuck, It’s going to trap me in here and— _

“Hey moron, can’t you read? It says push.”

“What?” he asks, turning his head towards the voice.

A woman is leaning against one of the shelves, chewing gum. She gives him a dirty look that strikes him as vagulely familiar.

“Push the fucking door.”

Eddie looks back at the door and spots the  _ PUSH _ sign above the handle. He lets out a breathy laugh, more relieved than embarrassed.

“Oh, thanks,” he says, pushing open the door and stumbling outside.

The general air quality in Derry is probably awful, but all things considered, it feels  _ incredibly _ soothing to take a deep breath of it. His lungs don’t feel like they’re squeezing in on themselves anymore, and the nausea is slowly passing. He wipes his hands off on his jeans, trying to get the grime off before he reaches to pull out his phone.

There’s a mess of unread messages and missed calls when he unlocks it, all from Richie. Relief floods through him.  _ He’s alive. Thank god he’s alive. _ He takes a shaky breath and reads over the messages.

**Rich :)**

**3:39pm** the fucking clown showed up

i’m fine, i got away

**3:42pm** eddie please tell me you’re okay

**3:43pm** eds?

**3:46pm** please text me or call me or something

**3:49pm** please.

**3:52pm** i can’t lose you, eds. i can’t.

Eddie’s eyes sting with tears at the last message. His fingers shake as he  types out a reply.

**Eddie**

**3:56pm** I’m sorry, I’m okay.

I got away too.

I’m so glad you’re okay.

**Rich :)**

**3:56pm** thank god

thank fuck

jesus christ, eds

i almost had a panic attack

**3:57pm** what the fuck happened back there??

where are you?

**Eddie**

**3:57pm** I don’t know.

I’m at the drugstore, but I’m leaving.

**3:58pm** Going back to the Townhouse now.

**Rich :)**

**3:58pm** okay, i’ll see you there

be careful on the way back

**Eddie**

**3:59pm** I will. You be careful, too.

**Rich :)**

**3:59pm** good because i wouldn’t forgive you if you died ahaha

i will, see you there

Eddie frowns and stares at Richie’s message. He knows he probably doesn’t mean it— but it still makes him feel awful. There’s no question that Richie will be mad at him for what he’s decided to do, but he knows it won’t last forever. He’ll get over it, he’ll move on. Even if he  _ didn’t _ forgive him, it wouldn’t matter right? He wouldn't be around to feel bad about it and at least Richie would be alive.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

He takes a step further out into the sidewalk and almost gets hit by a bike. It swerves and comes to an abrupt halt.

“Juh- _ Jesus _ , watch where you’re—”

The man turns around and they lock eyes. It’s Bill.

“ _ Eddie? _ ” he asks, eyes widening as he takes in his appearance. “What the hell happened to yuh-you?”

Eddie looks down at his clothes, then back up at Bill.

“Long story, but the leper threw up on me,” he says.

Bill’s nose scrunches.

"That explains the smell."

Eddie puffs a small laugh out through his nose. He glances at the bike Bill was riding and his eyes widen.

"Is that…  _ Silver _ ?" he asks.

Bill grins and pats one of the handlebars.

"The one and only. Can you buh-believe it?"

"Think it can still beat the devil?" Eddie asks, smiling slightly.

"Oh, I know it can. Hop on," he says. "I'll tuh-take us back to the others."

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

"Like we used to do?" he asks.

Bill smiles and pats the seat. Eddie can't remember when the last time he rode with Bill was; they were definitely kids, and it must have been before he broke his arm that last summer.

He takes a breath and climbs up onto the seat, hands on Bill's waist. Bill waits until he's situated, then he walks Silver forward, gaining momentum before he stands up on the pedals.

It's a short ride to the Townhouse. Watching the scenery there on the way, Eddie wishes things were different. He wishes they could all spend more time together, messing around like they used to. Wishes this was just a normal reunion, that they could say  _ fuck this town _ and leave together when they finished reliving old memories. The stench of the leper vomit on his clothes reminds him it's all temporary, though. 

Silver comes to a stop in the Townhouse parking lot close to Eddie's rental car. He'll have to remind himself to grab his inhaler out of the car before they leave again. Eddie climbs off the seat and gives Bill a grateful look before heading directly into the building.

Beverly and Ben are sitting on the stairs when he walks in. They both turn to look at him and Eddie remembers he's covered in vomit when he sees their eyes widen.

"Eddie, what—" Ben starts.

"Has Richie come back?" Eddie interrupts.

Bev's eyebrows furrow.

"No, not yet. Why?" she asks. "Eddie, what happened?"

"Hold on," he says, reaching into his pocket for the phone.

He pulls up Richie's number and calls him, muttering  _ please pick up _ a few times under his breath as it rings. His hands are shaking. Bill walks into the lobby and glances from Eddie to the others with a questioning look. 

"Richie," Bev says, and Bill nods.

The phone rings one more time and Eddie's heart feels like it's about to burst with panic when he finally hears the line pick up.

"Eddie?" Richie asks, and it's the most beautiful sound in the world to him.

" _ God _ . Sorry, I was— I'm at the Townhouse, are you almost here?"

"Yeah, I'm safe, don't worry. I should be there in like five minutes," he says.

"Okay. I'll see you soon, then."

"Soon, yeah."

Silence.

"Hey Eds?" Richie asks.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad you're safe."

The corner of Eddie's mouth twitches upwards in a slight smile.

"Me too. Glad you're safe," he says. "The others are here too, we just have to call Mike."

"I'll hurry my ass up, then."

"Yeah don't keep us waiting, dickwad."

The word comes out sounding more affectionate than he means it to.

"I won't, asshat. See you in five."

"See you."

Eddie hears Richie sigh before the line goes dead. He lowers the phone and slides it back into his pocket, looking at the others.

"He's fine, he'll be here soon," he says.

"Did something happen?" Ben asks, standing up.

"Oh. Richie and I got separated and the leper got to me."

Bev stands up too and makes her way over to him, watching him with concerned eyes.

"Honey, are you alright?" she asks softly.

The way she says it makes Eddie want to burst into tears. He is most definitely  _ not _ alright. His body feels like a piece of flimsy paper that the wind could easily tear apart. He's barely holding himself together.

"I will be," he says, voice wavering. "Just gotta wash this shit off."

Her eyes search his before she nods and steps aside. He makes his way past Ben, who gives him a sympathetic look, before heading up the stairs.

For once, he doesn't care that the bathroom is dirty. He's pretty sure the worst of the bacteria is all over him. That thought alone makes him gag again. He turns the sink on full blast, splashing water all over his face and scrubbing the grime off with his hands.

Eddie plays the scene over in his head as he washes his face and neck, remembering the pulsing under his palms. That was It's heart, he's sure of it. It attacked him because he'd been close to doing some real damage.

His hand reaches blindly for one of the towels by the sink and he pats his face dry, sighing. He glances up to look at himself in the mirror, but something catches his eye.

No, not something, someone—

He freezes, towel dropping from his hands into the sink. There's a flash of metal and his left cheek explodes with searing, burning pain. The tang of iron fills his mouth almost instantly and he's gasping, backing away from the man.

_ Bowers _ .

"Fuck," he breathes, flinching at how much it hurts to talk.

His hand reaches up to gingerly touch the hilt of the blade. The pain worsens, tears stinging his eyes.

" _ Why _ ?" he asks, but he isn't sure who he's asking. 

Bowers' smile is grotesque. He seems entertained by all of this.

"It's your time, Eddie," he says.

Eddie's eyes widen, heart pounding out of his chest. He slowly makes his way backward towards the shower, shoes smearing his blood all over the tile. If he doesn't do something soon, he's going to die here.

"My time?"

His tongue grazes the coolness of the metal blade and he feels sick.

"Your time to float."

A shiver of fear runs up his spine and he backs away further, eyes darting around the room. There's no way out but the open door, and Bowers is standing right near it. He feels the backs of his knees hit the bathtub’s edge and he reaches behind him, pulling the shower curtain open.

_ I'm not dying. Not here, not now. _

He steps backwards into the tub, closing the curtain in front of him so Bowers can't see him.

"You can't hide, Eddie," he growls.

Eddie brings a shaking hand up to grasp the hilt of the knife. The wound burns in protest and he squeezes his eyes shut. One breath. Another. Slowly, he pulls the knife out, tears streaming down his cheeks. He feels the warmth of his own blood run down his jaw and onto his neck; it's soaking his already vomit-stained shirt. The pain in his cheek fades some as the adrenaline kicks in, surging through him with such force he suddenly feels like he could fight a whole army of Bowers clones if he needed to.

He transfers the knife into his dominant hand, trying to remember anything that might help him. The shower scene in  _ Psycho _ is the first thing that comes to mind. That won't help, considering he's the one on the inside of the curtain. But—

He's got an advantage.

_ I have the knife now, dipshit. _

" _ Edddieeee… _ where did you go?" Bowers taunts.

Eddie can hear his shoes squeaking on the tile as he gets closer. He waits, every muscle in his body tense, gripping the knife so hard his knuckles turn white. This is it. He'll only have one chance to make it count. 

Bowers stops walking and Eddie can see his shadowy outline on the other side of the curtain.

"You can't hide. It's your time."

_ Fuck that. It's  _ **_your_ ** _ time, asshole. _

He thrusts the blade forward with all the strength he has. It cuts through the curtain like butter, then hits something more solid, piercing deeper the more he pushes. There's some give and it sinks in all the way to the hilt.

" _ Guh _ ," Bowers groans.

Eddie lets go of the knife as if it were red-hot, feeling his stomach churn. He just fucking  _ stabbed a man. _

One by one, the hooks start snapping off the curtain rod until the whole thing falls away. It's still attached to Bowers’ chest by the knife when he starts stumbling backwards. Eddie stares at the crimson spreading from underneath Bowers’ filthy shirt, too scared to take his eyes off of him. He steps out of the bathtub and feels for the wall, pressing his back against it as he starts making his way towards the door.

The blood loss must be getting to him because all he can think about is what a cool one-liner would be since he just knifed Bowers. He says the first thing that comes to mind.

“You should cut that fucking mullet. It’s been, like, thirty years, man.”

It's so bad it almost makes him laugh; the feeling bubbles up in his chest, but dies once it reaches his throat. His fear is coming back. Fuck, he has to get out of here.  _ Fuck. _

He makes it to the door and steps into the hall, legs feeling wobbly now that the adrenaline is wearing off.

" _ Guys _ !" he yells, flinching at the burning in his cheek.

"Eddie?!" Bev's voice sounds from down the stairs.

There's shuffling and sounds of frantic footsteps. Eddie slides down the wall and sits against it, too tired to keep standing. Today really hasn't been his day.

Beverly makes her way to the landing and screams the moment she sees him.

"Eddie, oh my god," she gasps, moving closer to kneel next to him.

"How bad is it?" he says, and he feels blood spill from his mouth and slip down his chin.

" _ Eds _ ?!" Richie yells from downstairs. "Fuck, what's going on?"

"Eddie?" Ben calls. "Bev, is he okay?"

The stairs creak rapidly with more footsteps.

"He's fine, he's just—"

Richie arrives first and freezes, eyes wide.

"Jesus  _ fuck—" _

He gags and tries to cover his mouth, but it's too much. His head turns away as he vomits onto the wood of the landing. Ben reaches them and makes a face at the mess Richie made before placing a hand on his back.

"What happened?" he asks, taking in the scene.

"Bowers," Eddie croaks. "In the bathroom."

Richie groans and Ben steps around Eddie to make his way towards the bathroom.

"Be careful," Bev says as he passes, then turns her attention back to Eddie. "How are you feeling? We're here now, you'll be okay."

"M'feeling like I'm bleeding everywhere," he says.

Richie wipes his mouth off on the back of his jacket sleeve and moves closer to them. His eyes are watery, but Eddie can't tell if it's because he threw up or because he's upset.

"Can I do anything?" he asks, voice wavering.

Oh, so he  _ is _ upset. 

"Toiletry bag in my room, please," he says, trying not to talk too much.

Richie nods and walks past them towards Eddie's room just as Ben comes out of the bathroom holding a towel.

"He escaped out the window," he says. "It looks like a murder scene in there."

Bev gingerly touches Eddie's chin, tilting his head slightly to look at the damage. She grimaces.

"Looks like it went clean through."

"Was it his knife?" Ben asks, moving to kneel beside Bev.

He passes the towel to her. She takes it, leaning forward to carefully apply pressure to Eddie’s cheek. The pain makes him flinch, eyes squeezing shut. Beverly gives him a sympathetic look.

"Yeah," he replies, voice strained. "Stabbed my face."

"It was in his chest when I saw him outside," Ben says. "The knife."

"I stabbed him back."

"You  _ stabbed _ Bowers?" Richie asks, coming back into the hall with the toiletry bag slung over his shoulder and a water bottle in his hand. Eddie opens his eyes, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a weak smile.

"Yeah."

Ben holds his hand out for the bag and Richie hands it to him, eyes not leaving Eddie.

"With the knife that was in your  _ face _ ?" he asks.

"Yeah, pulled it out."

"Fucking  _ shit _ , Eds."

Ben has the bag on the ground, sifting through it for supplies. He spots a large first aid kit and grabs it, glancing in Eddie's direction.

"Looks like I'm patching you up this time," he says, smiling.

Eddie lets out a small puff of a laugh and winces. Richie frowns and sits down next to him cross-legged.

"Looks like it," Eddie says.

"So," Ben says, opening the first aid kit. "What's first?"

"Need to clean it. That knife tasted like sewer."

Richie looks like he might get sick again. He holds out the water bottle to Ben.

“Here, use this,” he says. “No way the water in this shithole is clean.”

Ben grabs the water bottle and nods before opening it. Bev removes the towel from Eddie’s cheek, grimacing at the memory the blood on it brings. Eddie winces again, his cheek throbbing so strongly it burns. Tears sting the corners of his eyes, nails digging into his own thigh.

“I’ll switch places with you,” she says to Ben. “So you’re closer.”

They both move carefully, Beverly passing the towel to Ben. He takes it and kneels beside Eddie, holding it just under his jaw so it will collect water.

“This is probably going to sting some,” he says. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Eddie takes a shaky breath. It feels like his lungs aren’t filling with enough air. He has to be calm, he  _ has _ to. Getting worked up means that he’ll breathe faster which also means his heart will have to work overtime to get more blood to his organs, then he’ll bleed even  _ more _ —

“Eds,” Richie says softly. “You’re gonna be fine.”

He gently takes Eddie’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers. The relief it brings him is immediate. His breathing slows and he feels calmer than before. Richie’s right. He’s been through worse pain in his nightmares. This shouldn’t be so bad.

“Thanks,” he says, a hoarse whisper. “I’m ready.”

Richie squeezes his hand. Ben lets out a small sigh and raises the water bottle, carefully pouring some on Eddie’s wound. It stings so strongly that Eddie feels dizzy for a moment as his adrenaline attempts to kick in again. His hand shakes in Richie’s, eyes squeezing shut. He swallows, a wave of nausea rocking his stomach.

“Let us know if it’s too much, honey,” Beverly says softly. “We can take a break.”

Eddie feels the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He won't be able to hold them in much longer.

“I’m fine,” he says through half-gritted teeth. “Soap wipe next.”

Ben sets the half-soaked towel down in his lap and sets the water bottle off to the side. He holds out his hand to Beverly. She digs through the first aid kit and brings out a square packet, placing it in his hand quickly. Her eyes are still trained on Eddie’s face, eyebrows furrowed in worry. Ben tears open the packet, bringing out the wipe.

“Brace yourself,” he says.

Eddie takes a deep breath just before the wipe touches his skin. It instantly feels like someone is pressing a hot iron to his cheek. He whimpers, squeezing Richie’s hand tighter for support. Beverly reaches out to take his other hand, smoothing her thumb over his knuckles to comfort him. The tears finally slip from his eyes, making his cheek sting worse when one of them hits the wound. He feels Richie tense up beside him.

“Bowers is a fucking dead man for doing this to you,” he says, voice low with anger.

“Maybe he’s already dead,” Beverly suggests. “He was stabbed in the chest.”

“He was okay enough to walk and get into a car when I saw him from the window,” Ben comments, still carefully cleaning Eddie’s cheek.

An extremely unpleasant thought comes to Eddie.

“Wait. Where’s Bill?” he asks, opening his eyes.

Ben freezes and glances at Bev. She shifts slightly, nervous.

“He… he said there was a kid,” she says. “He lives at Bill’s old house and It’s after him, I think. I tried to get Bill to stay, but he rushed off to the festival to save him.”

“Bowers yelled something,” Ben says, “before he got into the car. I was so frantic about helping Eddie that I didn’t— I didn’t think about it until now.”

“What did he say?” Beverly asks.

“He said, ‘ _ one down _ .’ He’s hunting us.  _ Shit, _ he’s hunting us.”

Eddie feels his heart drop. Bowers had said it was his time to float… which only means that It’s using his hatred of the losers to hunt them all down like some deranged hitman. Okay, so maybe they’re in deeper shit than he thought.

“ _ Fuck, _ ” Richie hisses under his breath. He untangles his hand from Eddie’s and stands, digging in his pocket for his phone.

The sudden feeling of empty air in Eddie’s hand makes him feel anxious. He balls it into a fist at his side, taking a shaky breath. 

“What is it?” Ben asks.

Richie frantically dials a number and holds the phone to his ear, glancing around at them.

“He’s going after someone, right?” he says. “Bill’s at a fuckin’ festival, it’s too crowded, he’d never go for that. Mike’s the only one left vulnerable.”

“Oh god,” Beverly breathes.

“Ben,” Eddie says. “Get the closure strips, we have to finish this now.”

Ben tears his eyes away from Richie and nods, reaching over to dig inside the first aid kit again. Richie’s pacing up and down the hallway, repeating  _ come on _ under his breath over and over again.

“You— You’re gonna have to pinch my cheek together and use them like stitches,” Eddie says.

“Jesus,” Ben sighs.

“Just do it, I’ll be fine,” he reassures him.

“Squeeze my hand as much as you need to,” Beverly says absentmindedly. Her gaze is fixed on Richie, who’s still pacing like it’ll make Mike pick up the phone faster.

“Here we go,” Ben says, peeling off the first of the strips.

He pinches the wound closed and heat rushes to Eddie’s cheek again, pulse throbbing angrily. It worsens as Ben applies the strip.

“ _ Shit _ ,” he says under his breath, squeezing Beverly’s hand.

“Fuck!” Richie yells down the hall moments later. “He’s not picking up.”

Ben carefully applies one last strip, tongue half sticking out of his mouth in concentration.

“We have to go,” Richie says, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

“Antibiotic, gauze pad, and medical tape,” Eddie says, sounding out of breath.

Ben digs through the bag again without hesitation, moving quickly and methodically. He would have made a good nurse, Eddie thinks. He bites his lip as Ben gingerly applies the antibiotic ointment around the strips.

“You think you can walk, Eds?” Richie asks, kneeling beside him again.

There’s a tearing noise as Ben detaches some medical tape from the roll and starts securing a gauze pad to Eddie’s cheek.

“Yeah, I—  _ fuck! _ ” he winches. “No it’s fine, keep going Ben. Yeah, I’m fine. I can walk. I think.”

“Done,” Ben says, putting everything away and zipping up the bag. “We should take this with us.”

Beverly lets go of Eddie’s hand and takes the bag.

“I’ll hold it, you two help Eddie up,” she says.

“Here, put your arm around me,” Richie says.

Eddie listens, feeling a stab of longing in his chest as he does. He’d give anything for the situation to be different. He wishes the first time he put his arm around Richie wasn’t out of desperation. The feeling is nice though, regardless, and he cherishes it.

He follows suit with his arm around Ben and they both slowly lift him to his feet.

Beverly looks over his vomit and blood-caked clothes and frowns.

“I’ll grab a change of clothes for you, just get to the parking lot. I’ll be quick.”

She jogs towards Eddie’s room as Richie and Ben start helping him down the stairs.

Eddie feels so weak. He feels  _ awful _ . Not just physically— that’s a given after everything he’s been through today —but emotionally. He feels like a burden, like maybe he wasn’t cut out for this, for  _ any of it. _

When the time comes, will he even be able to do something to help?

He turns his head slightly to look at Richie. His expression is set,  _ determined _ , arm wrapped protectively around Eddie’s waist. There’s no way he’d ever let anything happen to him, Eddie knows that just by looking at him. There’s no way he’d let anything happen to  _ any of them _ .

_ I know how you feel _ , he thinks.  _ I do. But I’m not gonna let you do it, Richie. I won’t. You were always taking care of me, even when I didn’t know it. _

Something solidifies inside Eddie, then. Weak or no, he’s not going to give up. He’ll fight until his heart stops.

Richie turns his head as if he’s noticed Eddie staring. They lock eyes. Eddie manages a small smile. Richie’s eyes widen imperceptibly before he looks back down at the stairs, the ghost of a smile on his face.

_ It’s time for me to take care of you. _


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "If they say  
> Who cares if one more light goes out?  
> In a sky of a million stars  
> It flickers, flickers  
> Who cares when someone's time runs out?  
> If a moment is all we are  
> We're quicker, quicker  
> Who cares if one more light goes out?  
> Well I do"  
>   
> — "One More Light" by Linkin Park

Richie glances towards Ben as they reach the parking lot.

“I got him, man. You gotta start your car,” he says.

Ben glances between the two of them, worry reflected in his eyes. He lets out a small sigh and carefully lets go of Eddie before half-jogging towards where his car is parked.

“I can walk, Richie,” Eddie says once he’s out of earshot. “Really, I’m fine.”

“You’re not dizzy or anything?” he replies, unconvinced. “That was a lot of fuckin’ blood.”

“No, adrenaline is one hell of a drug.”

Richie lets out a soft laugh. It gives Eddie such a strong urge to kiss his cheek that he has to bite the inside of his lip to stop himself. There’s no time for that, there won’t be time for that when their lives are on the line.

“Yeah, one hell of a crash, too. You’re gonna feel like shit soon, if you don’t already. So I’m walking you to my car, end of debate.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Eddie’s mouth. It makes his cheek sting slightly, but he almost doesn’t notice with Richie’s arm still around his waist. They make their way over to the car, stopping so Richie can open the door for him. Eddie glimpses his own rental car sitting a few spots away.

“Richie, wait. My inhaler’s in my car,” he says.

He feels Richie sigh against him.

“Fuck, that’s right. The damn ritual. Do you have your keys?”

Eddie reaches into his jacket pocket with his free hand, pulling out the keys to hand to Richie. He takes them, and just for a moment, their fingers brush. Eddie almost forgets how to breathe.

The Townhouse’s squeaky back door opens as Beverly exits, carrying clothes in her arms. She glances around and makes a beeline for the two of them.

“Bev, can you help Eddie into the front seat?” Richie asks. “I gotta grab something from his car.”

“Sure, honey,” Beverly replies.

She drapes the clothes over her shoulder, holding her hand out to take Eddie’s. Richie reaches up and gently grasps Eddie’s wrist to lift his arm up from around his shoulders. The arm Richie has around Eddie's waist shifts so that his hand is resting on the small of his back to steady him.

“I have him,” she says, taking Eddie’s other hand. “Go ahead.”

Richie nods and slowly removes himself from Eddie’s side, giving him one last look before he turns to jog towards the rental car. The absence he leaves is immense. Eddie has absolutely no idea how he went twenty seven years without seeing him.

“Here, sit down,” Bev says. “ I brought you a change of shirt. And a jacket, just in case.”

She holds onto his hands as he slowly sits on the edge of the passenger seat. The moment the weight is taken off his legs, he realizes how  _ tired _ they feel. It’s been a long day.

“Thanks, Bev,” he says quietly. “I feel like I’ve said that a million times.”

“You probably have,” she says, giving him a soft smile, “but I appreciate it all the same.”

He gives her a small smile in return, ignoring the throbbing in his cheek. Beverly lets go of his hands to grab the change of clothes from her shoulder, holding them out to him. Eddie sets them in his lap and starts to shrug off his grime and blood-soaked jacket.

Richie comes back when Eddie’s halfway through taking his shirt off. He hesitates a moment, staring. Shifting on his feet. Eddie feels the blood he has left rise to his face, making his cheeks burn. Having Richie look at him like that is too much.

“Hey,” Eddie says, and he could scream for how stupid he sounds. “Did you get it?”

Beverly looks between them and smiles to herself. Richie blinks a few times, as if he’s not fully comprehending the question Eddie asked.

“Um,” he says. “Yeah. Yeah, here.”

He hands Eddie the prescription bag from Center Street Drugstore. The cheap paper crinkles in his hand.

“We gotta get going,” Richie says. “Mike needs us.”

“I’ll see you there,” Beverly says.

She gives both of them a meaningful glance, then turns on her heels to dash towards Ben’s car.

“You can finish changing while I drive, just throw your dirty clothes on the floor,” Richie says.

He quickly walks around to the driver’s side of the car before Eddie can say anything. The door opens and Richie gets inside, huffing out a short sigh. His hands are shaking, Eddie notices, as he puts his seatbelt on. Eddie bites his lip and shifts to bring his legs into the car. He closes the door and it suddenly feels like they're in a vacuum. Richie turns the key without saying a word, backing up out of the parking space. 

Eddie drops his bloodied shirt and jacket on the floor and starts putting on the clean shirt Beverly brought him. He notices a small smear of blood on the cloth of the seat and frowns.

“I’m sorry for bleeding on your car,” he says, slowly pulling on his jacket.

Richie gives him a brief glance, eyebrows forming a crease in the middle of his forehead.

“Jesus, man. It’s fine, I don’t care about my fucking car,” he says. “I’m just glad you’re alive.”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies absentmindedly, trying not to remember the lingering threat of his nightmares.

He reaches into the prescription bag and pulls out the inhaler, slipping it into his jacket pocket for safekeeping.

“I keep thinking about it,” Richie says, gripping the steering wheel.

“About what?”

“If Bowers— if he had—” his voice cracks and he bites his lip. “You know, if he succeeded. I wouldn’t have been there.”

“Richie—”

“I don’t want that to happen again. I can’t— I don’t want us to get separated again.”

_ Thank god _ , Eddie thinks.  _ I’m not smothering him, he wants this too. _

“We won’t,” he says. “We’ll stick together.”

“Good because you’re, like…  _ fuck _ . You’re really important to me, you know? And I’m not just fucking saying that, I mean it. You’re my best friend.”

Eddie feels his pulse stutter and quicken its pace.

“You’re mine too,” he says, then after a small pause he adds, “I don’t know how I went twenty-seven years without you.”

“ _ God _ , I know. I have no idea either. It was shit, man. Being without you guys.”

“I would have been someone else, I think,” Eddie says. “If I remembered.”

“Me too. No fuckin’ ghostwriter.”

Eddie fidgets with the zipper on the bottom of his jacket.

“No wife,” he says.

Richie raises his eyebrows and glances over at him.

“So it’s bad, huh? I know you were tense about it before, but…”

“She’s like my mom, Rich. A lot like her.”

“Jesus christ.”

“I forgot all of it. I forgot I stood up to her, that I learned the truth. I believed her after we left Derry for a long fucking time. Then I went and married someone just like her and it made me miserable.”

“I’m sorry, man. You don’t deserve that shit.”

“I know,” Eddie says, sighing. He looks down at his hands in his lap. “That’s why I left her.”

“Like… for good?”

“Yeah. After Mike called, I just… packed my shit and left. I told her I wasn’t coming back. I wanted to leave for a while, but I think I was looking for an excuse to finally go.”

“Hey, I’m proud of you, Eds. That’s… that sounds like it was hard.”

“Thanks. It was, but I think I’ll be okay now. I’m back with you guys.”

There’s that lump in his throat again. He feels like crying, but he won’t. Richie takes a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I don’t think I ever felt like I belonged anywhere after Derry. You guys are like— fuck, not to be sappy or anything, but you’re the most important thing that ever happened to me.”

“I know what you mean. Even after… all of  _ this _ ,” Eddie says, motioning to the gauze on his cheek. “I feel more at home now than I ever have.”

Richie nods, but he doesn’t say anything. He takes the last turn onto Up-Mile Hill, where the Derry public Library looms on the right. Eddie spots Ben’s car, where he and Beverly are just getting out. Another car— Mike’s —is parked a few spots down. The last car in the lot is  _ different _ , Eddie notices. A classic. He leans forward in his seat to get a better look. It’s a 1978 blue Pontiac Trans Am. The same car Bowers used to drive around town terrorizing kids.

“He’s here,” Eddie says, panicked. “He’s fucking here, that’s his car.”

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Richie swears, putting the car in park.

Eddie opens the passenger side door at the same time Richie opens his.

“We gotta fucking  _ go _ , he’s already here!” Richie calls to both of them.

“Shit,” Ben says.

He grabs the first aid kit from his car and turns to rush towards the doors, Richie following suit. Beverly jogs over to Eddie just as he stands up out of the car, reaching out to hold his arm. She helps him keep his balance. Fuck, his legs are still so  _ tired _ .

“Thanks,” he says. “I think I can run, if you help me.”

“Of course, honey.”

Beverly places one hand on his back, moving the other to interlace their fingers together. Eddie closes the car door and gives her a look.

“I’m ready,” he says.

They half-jog towards the library doors together. There’s a crash of glass the moment they get inside and Eddie feels his heart drop into his stomach. What if something happened? What if Bowers got one of them? His lungs constrict and he looks to Bev, whose wide-eyed look matches his. More noise comes from down the hall and they make their way towards it as quickly as they can. 

The room comes into view as they enter through the double doors. For a moment, everything is in slow motion. Ben, frozen a few feet from the doorway. Richie, holding what looks like an axe above his head. Mike, pinned to the ground by Bowers and fighting to keep his knife from meeting its mark.

Eddie flinches as Richie brings the axe down hard, sinking it into the back of Bower’s skull. His hands immediately let go of the handle and he takes a step back as if it burned him. A few seconds pass before Bowers slumps sideways, thudding to the floor beside Mike.

No one says anything at first. Eddie can feel Beverly shaking against him, and  _ fuck _ , maybe he’s shaking too. Ben takes a hesitant step towards Mike and Richie, then stops, unsure. Richie is the first to break the silence.

“Guess that was long overdue. Right? Get it?” he says, sounding out of breath. “Y’know because we’re in a library and—  _ oh _ , nope—”

He leans over to the side away from Mike, vomiting onto the wood floor. Eddie stares, trying to process everything. Ben walks around Richie to reach Mike, carefully helping him stand.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyeing Mike’s bleeding arm.

“Fucking  _ no _ ,” Richie says. “I just killed a guy,  _ of course _ I’m not okay.”

_He said Bowers was a dead man back at the Townhouse,_ Eddie thinks. _He said it and he did it, he killed him. Richie killed Bowers._ _Richie—_

“I was asking Mike,” Ben says.

“He got my arm,” Mike replies.

“Let’s patch that up,” Ben says, motioning to where he left the first aid kit on the floor. “Eddie came prepared.”

Mike smiles fondly and glances Eddie’s way.

“Always looking out for us,” he says. “Thanks Eddie.”

A warm comfort spreads through Eddie’s chest. He smiles back.

“Oh. No problem."

Ben walks over to pick up the kit, taking a seat at one of the tables to get started on treating Mike’s wound. Eddie watches for a moment before his eyes wander back over to Richie.

“Are you okay to stand by yourself?” Beverly asks. “I should see if Ben needs any help.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. You’re good,” Eddie replies, not looking away.

He feels Beverly untangle herself from him. She gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze before he sees her disappear from his peripheral vision. 

Richie hasn’t moved since he killed Bowers. He’s holding his stomach, looking like he might throw up again. Eddie starts walking without thinking, not stopping until he’s beside Richie, one of his hands moving to rest on his back. He can feel his body shaking underneath his palm.

“Rich,” he says, soft. “Hey— you need to stop staring at him, man.”

“I wanted to do it.” 

It’s so quiet, Eddie almost doesn’t hear.

“What?”

“I wanted to kill him,” Richie repeats. “For what he did to you. For what he did to Mike. And Ben. Bev, Bill, Stan, and— and me.”

“He deserved it,” Eddie says. “It’s not like he was innocent.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just— why do I still feel so  _ shitty _ ?”

“Because you killed someone? I mean, I think you’re having a pretty normal reaction, Rich. It’s okay to feel bad about it.”

Richie nods slowly, taking in his words.

“Yeah. Yeah,  _ god _ , Eddie. I fucking killed someone. I—”

His hand shoots up to cover his mouth, eyes squeezing shut.

Eddie frowns and rubs his back.

“You had to do it. Mike might have died if you didn’t.”

Richie keeps his eyes closed, but he nods. Eddie’s gaze moves back to where Bowers is laying. He feels sick for a moment, but his worry for Richie overpowers it.

“Hey Mike,” Eddie calls. “Is there something here we can drape over him?”

“There should be a tarp inside one of the display cases,” he replies.

“Thanks.”

Eddie lightly tugs on Richie’s arm, coaxing him to face away from the body. He moves without fighting him, eyes still closed. Some of his hair has fallen into his face, sticking to the sweat on his forehead. Without a second thought, Eddie reaches up to tenderly brush it to the side with his fingers. Richie’s eyes open and lock onto his. Eddie feels a familiar tug of affection on his heart.

“Breathe, okay?” he says.

Richie’s eyes search his and he almost feels rooted to the spot by his gaze.

“Okay,” Richie finally says.

The corners of Eddie’s mouth tug into a small smile. It takes all the willpower he has in him to tear his eyes away from Richie’s and walk away. He glances at a couple of the display cases before he spots the tarp, crumpled in a pile at the bottom of a cabinet. There’s a piece of paper taped to the glass,  _ Items Taken for Cleaning & Maintenance. _ He’s glad the axe apparently wasn’t one of them.

He tugs at the door and it opens with a high-pitched squeak. There’s a visible layer of dust on top of the entirety of the inside. Eddie suppresses his disgust as he reaches down to grasp the cloth, pulling it out of the case. The exertion almost makes him feel dizzy, but he powers through it. He grasps both ends of one side and shakes it out, sending more dirt and dust drifting off into the air. _ When was the last time anything in this fucking town was cleaned? _

With a sigh, he drags the tarp across the linoleum floor and drapes it over Bowers as best as he can. His shoes are still visible, but it does the job okay.

“Thanks Eds,” Richie says weakly.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies.

“Why isn’t Bill with you?” Mike asks.

It cuts through the chatter of their previous conversation and catches Eddie’s attention. The panic he pushed down to help Richie begins to kick back in.

“He went after a kid,” Beverly says. “He told me he was in danger and he had to save him from It.”

“Where?”

He sounds panicked, too.

“The festival.”

Mike quickly uses his good arm to dig his phone out from his pocket.

“Did you try calling him?" he asks.

“No, we— we came after you first because Richie thought he might be safer than you were.”

“He was right,” he says, holding the phone up to his ear.

Eddie watches the worry in Mike’s face as he waits for an answer. He recognizes it and wonders how he hasn’t noticed it before.

“Bill?” Mike asks, looking relieved. “We’re all at the library, where are you?”

A shadow shifts in the corner of Eddie’s vision and he knows Richie’s paying attention now too. Mike’s expression shifts into concern and he abruptly stands, pacing across the room.

“No, no— Bill, listen to me. Just… just come here, to the library. It will be okay. We can come up with a plan together and—”

He stops pacing, listening. Eddie can vaguely hear Bill’s voice on the other line, but he can’t make out the words.

“No, Bill, no, no,  _ don’t— _ ”

More quiet. Eddie’s stomach feels like it’s in knots.

“Bill! Bill, don’t hang up.  _ Bill?! _ ”

Mike takes the phone away from his ear and looks down at the screen.

“What’s going on?” Ben asks.

Beverly gets up off the table and stands, looking ready to bolt.

“He’s going alone,” Mike says. “To fight It.  _ Alone. _ He said he doesn’t want us there.”

“ _ Bullshit _ ,” Richie says.

“We have to go after him,” Eddie replies.

Mike makes his way over and picks something up, looking exasperated, almost  _ terrified. _

“It’s about the group,” he says, walking back to place the object down near them on the table. “ _ All of us _ have to be there for the ritual to work. Us being together is the only way. We  _ need _ our collective strength.”

Richie takes a few steps forward and picks the object up, examining it. It looks like a weird leather vase, Eddie thinks. It also looks extremely old and cryptic.  _ Definitely  _ screams ritual. Mike notices Richie looking and pulls the container from his grasp, appearing strangely protective. Eddie thinks it’s weird and Richie must too because he turns to give Eddie a look, to which he shrugs in response.

“Did he say where he was going?” Ben asks.

“There’s only one place to go if he wants to kill It,” Beverly says quietly.

_ Of course, _ Eddie realizes.  _ Of course it’s that fucking house. _

“It’s the same place we have to complete the ritual,” Mike says.

Eddie lets out a long sigh.

“We’re gonna have to go back to that shithole, aren’t we?” he asks.

“Fuck,” Ben says.

“Fuck’s right,” Richie says. “Though right now I’m feeling it’s more like a  _ jesus fucking christ  _ situation.”

“Bev,” Eddie says. “Did he take Silver when he left?”

“I don’t know, I think so. I didn’t hear a car—”

“Then we can catch him. If we all get into a car and drive there we should be able to get there before him, right?”

“Right. We’ll have to park a street down,” Mike says. “That street’s been closed off for years.”

“We can all fit into my car,” Ben says. “It’s bigger.”

“Didn’t peg you for a soccer mom, Benny,” Richie jokes.

Eddie can tell he’s just trying to keep himself from thinking too much about what they’re all about to do.

_ We’re about to walk into hell. _

It’s the one place Eddie’s terrified to face again. The place that his nightmare will come true, one way or another.

29 Neibolt Street.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Baby when it's cold outside  
> I will keep you warm  
> Save you from the storm  
> I will light a fire  
> And the embers bright  
> Will guide you through the night  
> When it's cold outside  
> I will light a fire"  
>   
> — "Light a Fire" by Rachel Taylor

They all climb into Ben’s car: Beverly in the passenger seat, Eddie between Richie and Mike in the back. It’s snug, but comforting, having their shoulders brush up against one another. Somewhere along the drive, Richie reaches over to hold Eddie’s hand and he gratefully interlaces their fingers. Eddie notices Mike looking at them from the corner of his eye; it makes his face grow hot.

The drive to Neibolt is silent. Ben does his best to drive safely, but they’re in a hurry. He ignores the speed limit, runs a few red lights. The streets of Derry are eerily empty, the sky dark with clouds. It’s as if the whole town is trying to ward them off, keep them from doing what they have to.

“Park up here on the side of the road,” Mike says, once they’re close.

Eddie leans forward to glance out the window. It’s exactly as he remembers it, the street. He used to wander here after school on the way home, past the church, where he could stop to hear the congregation sing inside. It was peaceful back then, before that fateful summer. The calm before the storm, his little moment of respite before heading home to the real horror.

Ben parks the car and they all open their doors. Richie keeps hold of Eddie’s hand as they step out, helping him stand. Mike motions toward the street ahead.

“We’ll have to walk the rest of the way,” he says.

“I didn’t see Bill on the drive here,” Ben says, glancing back at him. “He might already be at the house.”

“We should hurry, then,” Beverly says.

Eddie’s legs still feel like jelly, but he knows if he has to, he can make a run for it. There’s no way in hell he’s letting himself drag the rest of them down. Bill needs them.

“Hey,” Richie says softly, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “I can carry you if you need it, man.”

The mere suggestion makes Eddie’s heart race. His eyes widen slightly and he glances up at Richie, meeting his gaze. He almost looks  _ shy _ . 

“I should be okay,” he replies. “You’ll get tired if you do that.”

Richie’s expression hardens, but Eddie can see the worry in his eyes.

“Eds, you lost like a pint of blood an hour ago. If you start running, you’ll be worse off.”

He  _ does _ feel kind of nauseous. Also anxious. Wobbly, tired. But that could be anything— they’re about to go into fucking  _ Neibolt _ and face a giant murder clown.

“What’s going on?” Beverly asks, making her way over. “We have to go.”

“Eddie doesn’t want me to carry him,” Richie says to her, then turns back to look at him. “I’m telling you, you’re gonna start bleeding from your face again if you run with us.”

“I’m  _ fine _ , I can run,” Eddie says. “I don’t wanna hold you guys back.”

“Eddie, you’re not holding us back,” Ben says. “Promise.”

“We’re here for you. For each other, right?” Mike adds. “Losers stick together.”

Eddie looks around at all of them, taking in their expressions. His whole life he felt smothered,  _ lonely _ in the middle of too much unwanted attention. He felt like an object, not a person to be cared for or loved. But looking at them now— his friends, his  _ family  _ —he feels comforted. He gives into that feeling, lets it envelop him like a warm blanket.

“Right,” he says. “Losers stick together.”

Richie squeezes Eddie’s hand again before letting go.

“I’ll give you a piggyback ride,” he says. “Like old times. You’re still kind of tiny, so you shouldn’t be too heavy.”

Eddie rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“Shut up.”

Richie just grins and squats down slightly, holding his arms back.

“Ready when you are, Spaghetti.”

“Again,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck and climbing carefully onto his back, “shut up.”

Beverly smiles and glances at Ben before she starts jogging towards Neibolt Street. Mike follows quickly afterwards, but Ben lingers, watching Richie to see if he needs any help standing back up.

“Moment of truth,” Richie says.

He supports Eddie’s legs with his arms and slowly stands, cursing under his breath when his knees crack.

“You okay?” Ben asks.

“Peachy. Go ahead, we’ll catch up.”

Ben nods and jogs off after Beverly and Mike, leaving the two of them alone.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Eddie asks.

“Yeah, man. I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Just hang on.”

They’re so close he can feel Richie’s voice vibrate through his chest when he talks. The air around them is growing colder as night hits, but the warmth of Richie’s body against his keeps Eddie from shivering. He clings to him a little tighter as Richie begins to run after the others. Ben’s still visible up ahead, but Eddie can’t see Mike or Beverly anymore.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Richie says suddenly, slowing his pace. “Jesus christ.”

Eddie’s pulse spikes with worry.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I—  _ jesus, _ I pulled a fucking muscle.”

The worry Eddie felt melts into guilt.

“Shit, Rich. You can put me down, I’ll be fine.”

“You sure?” he asks, slowing to a stop.

“Yeah, man. The house is right there.”

It’s a lie, or at least Eddie thinks it is before he glances ahead. Sure enough, Neibolt  _ is _ right there, looming about fifty feet ahead. Eddie can just make out a few of the others, one of them standing on the porch.

_ Bill. _

Eddie carefully climbs off Richie's back, legs aching as his feet touch down on the ground. He exchanges a look with him, their hands finding each others' again. They start walking as quickly as they can; Richie limps slightly beside Eddie, and he can't help but worry about what comes next. He's so close to the end now, he realizes. He might only have a few hours left. There's an ache in his chest that keeps growing. He's sure the only thing keeping him from breaking down completely is Richie's hand in his.

They arrive in the front yard, taking their places alongside Mike, Beverly, and Ben. All of them are facing Bill, who's standing on Neibolt's decrepit porch looking distraught. He's about to say something when he notices Eddie and Richie.

"Yuh-You... you shouldn't be here. This is  _ my _ fault. None of you would be in this mess if I hadn't asked fuh-for you to come with me that summer to look for Juh-juh- _ Georgie _ ."

" _ We _ decided to come with you, Bill," Mike says. "All of us did."

"Yeah, man, you didn't force us to do anything," Richie adds. "I mean,  _ fuck _ , I know I complained, but I was a whiny ass kid! I wanted to go because I knew it needed to be done."

"Without us, more kids would have died," Ben says. "Any of us could have died, but we didn't. Because we stuck together."

Bill shakes his head.

"I'm not luh-letting any of you risk your lives," he says.

"You can't stop us," Beverly says. "We'll come in there after you."

There's a murmur of agreement from all of them. Beverly bends down and picks up a rusted fence spike from the dead grass at her feet, as if to drive her point home.

Eddie takes a shaky breath.

"We need to do this together," he says. "Together is the way It dies."

Bill's eyes meet Eddie's and he looks startled as he takes in his appearance.

"Eddie... wuh-what happened to you?" he asks.

"Bowers. I got him back though, don't worry," he replies.

"He won't uh... be bothering us anymore," Richie says, looking sick.

Eddie squeezes his hand.

"Oh," Bill says, keeping his gaze on Eddie.

"Bill," Mike says softly.

The sound gets his attention and he tears his eyes away from Eddie to look at Mike. He bites his lip, hands balling into fists at his sides.

"Please," Mike continues. "You don't have to do this alone."

Silence settles over the yard, making the atmosphere around them even more ominous. The wind is picking up, dark clouds swirling overhead. All around them, the air feels thick with charged electricity, waiting to burst. If Eddie didn't know any better, he'd say they were standing in the middle of the apocalypse.

"Okay," Bill says, voice small. He sounds defeated.

Mike's shoulders sag as he lets out a sigh of relief. 

"Good," he says.

Eddie glances around at all of them, concentrating on the feeling of Richie's hand in his. It keeps him grounded.

"Does anyone wanna say anything?" he asks. "Before we go in."

"Yeah, I do," Richie says.

Everyone turns to look at him. His expression is serious.

"Let’s kill this fuckin’ clown," he says.

Bill smiles, his eyes falling on each of them. Eddie can't help but feel like a soldier, waiting for the signal to charge. Isn't that what they've always been? Their normal lives after Derry were fiction; something they reached for, but could never grasp. They were always going to end up right here, at the mouth of the beast. Together.

Eddie thinks about who they used to be. Those bright-eyed kids, trekking through the underbrush of The Barrens. He had hopes back then. Dreams. They all did.

If walking into Neibolt and killing It means that kids like those can be safe... if it means they can laugh and be normal children, well, Eddie thinks it's worth the risk.

One by one, they all make their way up the rickety steps. Eddie keeps hold of Richie’s hand, even as Ben hands him a flashlight from his duffel bag. Night has completely enveloped Derry, making it practically impossible to see outside with no street lights. Eddie can only imagine how dark the recesses of the house will be, not to mention the damp tunnels waiting for them below.

He turns on the flashlight, following the others inside. An overwhelming sense of dread floods his chest the moment he steps through the threshold. Even with the warmth of Richie’s hand in his, he feels unbearably  _ cold _ . A shiver moves through him as he points his flashlight toward the fireplace. It’s caked in even more spider webs than the last time he saw it, but he can still make out the words on the mantle,  _ GOOD CHEER GOOD FRIENDS. _ He's sure that It's taunting them, daring them to go further.

There’s a low hissing from the staircase to the left and Richie points his light in the direction of the noise. Black sludge is creeping down the rotted wood, burning it up like acid. Eddie feels Richie squeeze his hand and press closer to him.

“Well,” he starts, “I really love what he’s done with the place. Not sure the black goo is in season, though. It’s a little much.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bev says, pointing her flashlight toward one of the door frames.

Eddie takes small steps alongside Richie, absentmindedly following Bill through one of the doorways. The room is completely trashed and covered in more cobwebs. Bill wanders over to another doorway and stops, turning to look at both of them.

“Well, I fuh-found the basement,” he says. 

_ Wait, the basement? That means... _ Eddie suppresses a shudder when he realizes just what room they’re in. The kitchen. He turns his flashlight and it lands on the fridge. God, that  _ fucking _ fridge. It feels like no time has passed at all since the last time he was here. The bone in his right arm aches from the memory.

“You alright, Eds?” Richie asks him softly. 

He manages to tear his eyes away from the fridge to glance at Richie.

“Yeah, I’m—”

A piercing scream echoes through the house, cutting him off. The door to the kitchen slams shut, sending dust raining from the frame.

“ _Ben?!”_ Beverly’s scream is muffled from the other side of the wall.

Eddie lets go of Richie’s hand and rushes to the door, desperately pulling at the handle. It doesn’t budge.

“Ben!” he yells. “What’s going on, is he okay?!”

Bill joins him at the door, slamming his shoulder against it a few times. For as old as the house is, it seems too sturdy for its own good.

“It’s not opening,” Bill says, out of breath with panic. “It’s not fuh- _ fucking _ opening!”

Another thump sounds from behind the two of them, but it’s  _ metallic. _

“Guys,” Richie says. “That, um… that’s not good.”

Eddie turns and looks toward where Richie’s light is pointing. To his horror, the fridge lurches with another  _ thump _ and starts shaking. He backs up in fear into the corner of the wall, pressing his back against the crumbling wallpaper, eyes wide.

_ No, this can’t be happening. Not again. _

It continues to shake for a few moments before abruptly stopping. The fridge door flies open, slamming against the wall behind it. It takes Eddie a moment to make out what’s inside. At first, he can’t figure out what he’s looking at, but once it clicks, he feels his stomach lurch and his lungs heave.

“Is— is that—” Bill starts.

“It’s Stan,” Richie finishes.

He’s definitely dead. His body is twisted in ways it shouldn’t be to fit inside the confines of the fridge, and there’s a  _ smell _ . It reaches Eddie’s nose in seconds, turning his stomach worse. He lifts a hand to cover his nose and mouth, gagging. Richie takes a step backward away from the fridge, doing the same.

“Jesus  _ fuck _ ,” he says, voice muffled by his hand.

The body twitches, decaying head jolting to look at them. Then It screams, shrill and  _ loud _ , so loud it makes Eddie drop his flashlight so he can cover both of his ears with his hands. Richie jumps and lets out a scream, taking another step back. Bill presses himself against the door, holding his flashlight like a bat. 

As soon as it started, the screaming suddenly halts as Not-Stan’s head detaches with a  _ crack _ , falling to the floor and rolling. It comes to a stop a few feet in front of Richie, standing upright on Its stump of a neck. The clouded eyes dart to look at Bill.

“Bill,” It says, voice exactly how Eddie remembers it.

_ It’s not him, it’s not him. Stan’s dead and he’s not a kid anymore, It’s taunting you, that’s all. _ Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, doing his best to imagine the  _ real _ Stan. How he was that summer, before everything, grinning while he flipped through his bird book, laughing at Richie’s stupid jokes. Laughter that was contagious, that made everyone smile. 

“I’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you,” It continues, voice wavering.

The image in Eddie’s mind fades and he opens his eyes again, locking eyes with the thing that isn’t Stan.

“Eddie,” It continues. “Richie, all of you. It’s your fault. You’re not my friends, you were never my friends. Look what you did to me.”

“Shuh-shuh-shut  _ up _ ,” Bill manages to say. “You’re not him. You’re  _ not. _ ”

Stan’s severed head lurches, letting out a strangled yelp of pain. The flesh on Its face is moving strangely, stretching outward in places.

“What’s happening to me…?” It asks. “I’m scared. Bill, I’m so  _ scared _ .”

It screams again as something finally bursts through, tearing the skin. Richie gags and turns his head away. Eddie stares. More of them push through Its rotting carapace, sending spurts of pus onto the filthy floor. All of Eddie’s joints feel locked in place; he’s completely frozen in fear, slowly piecing together what he’s seeing.

Legs. Its growing legs.

There’s a squelching noise as one of the legs presses through the jelly of Its eye, causing It to scream in agony.

“ _ Shit _ —” Richie gasps, voice two octaves higher.

He gags again, but this time it’s too much and he vomits on the floor. Its eyes twitch towards him, decaying lips pulling upward in a grotesque smile. Then, It begins to  _ laugh. _ The sound makes Eddie flinch, his throat growing tight with tears. This thing is an insult to Stan’s memory. An abomination. A spark of anger ignites in Eddie’s chest and he feels a flash of bravery. He could fight It, he  _ could. _ For Stan.

Its laughter stops abruptly and the fire inside of Eddie dies out before he can act. The fear is back. All he can do is watch with terror as It screeches and skitters across the floor toward Richie on Its thin legs.

“ _ Fuck _ !” Richie yelps, scrambling backwards.

Bill rushes forward, brandishing his flashlight; he tries to swing at it a few times, but It rapidly changes course, barreling straight for Eddie. He only has a few seconds to react. On reflex, he kicks his leg outward, shouting as he feels his ankle connect with Its cold skin. The head rolls and slams into the open fridge door, whimpering. It stands, wobbly, as if stunned. Bill storms toward It. He curses under his breath as It scrambles up a ledge and disappears into a hole in the wall. Eddie waits, eyes so focused on the place It vanished that he doesn’t notice Richie approaching until he’s almost there. He flinches and half expects to see It standing there when he turns to look. Every muscle in his body relaxes with relief at the sight of Richie.

“Eds. Hey— Hey, man. You okay?” he asks, obviously shaken himself.

Eddie opens his mouth to say  _ no, I’m not fucking okay _ , but the reply sticks in his throat. A thick rope of slime descends from the ceiling, dangling between them. Eddie’s breath catches, his lungs seizing with dread. Both of them slowly look up. 

It’s there, head wedged snugly between the rafters. Another line of drool suspends from Its sharpened teeth.

“Oh  _ fuck,”  _ Richie says.

There’s a flash of shadow as It jumps down from above, latching onto Richie’s face. He screams and stumbles backward, reaching to desperately attempt to pry It off. His foot hits some debris on the floor and he falls, landing hard on his back. 

“ _ Get It off!”  _ Richie screeches.

Eddie watches in horror, limbs rigid with fear.

_ “Fuck, oh fuck, get It off, please get It—” _

Bill sprints over, grasping the sides of Its head with his hands, struggling to pull It off of Richie. Eddie feels like he’s paralyzed outside of his own body, watching the scene unfold.

_ No. No, no, no, this isn’t happening, this can’t be happening Richie isn’t supposed to die here, he’s not— _

“Eddie, get the knife,  _ get the knife!” _ Bill yells.

“Richie?!” Beverly’s voice is shrill with worry on the other side of the wall.

The door thumps and shudders on its hinges as someone slams into it from the outside. There’s a pause before it thumps again, then again, and  _ again _ .

“The knife, Eddie! Please!”

Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from Richie. It’s teeth are so close to his face that it makes every nerve Eddie’s body feel as if it’s being electrocuted. He’s a live wire of panic and he’s so  _ scared _ that he can’t move. All he can see are images of Richie in his nightmares. Dead, dying. This is real, it’s all  _ real _ and Richie actually might die and he’s not strong enough to stop it. He  _ won’t _ be strong enough to stop it and it’ll be all his fault, Richie’s going to die because of  _ him _ —

The kitchen door splinters open. Richie’s stopped screaming and has started gagging and choking on whatever scum is pooling from Its mouth. Bill’s arms are shaking with the effort of trying to keep It from eating Richie’s face. He won’t be able to hold on much longer. Eddie still can’t look away, can’t breathe.

Ben brings the knife down into Its skull with one swift motion. The blade sinks to the hilt and It cries out in pain, writhing. He pulls the knife out, then buries it into Its head again, over and over until Its limp in Bill’s grasp. Eddie feels some of the tension leave his body as Bill hurls the head away from them. It hits the wall with a wet crack and lies still on the floor. Eddie watches It twitch and drag Itself pitifully toward the basement archway. In a flash, It’s gone again, rolling into the darkness.

“Richie!” Bev gasps, stumbling over to him. 

She kneels at his side, quickly removing her jacket to help wipe some of the grime from his face. He coughs and takes a few gasping breaths before rolling on his side to dry heave.

“I can’t see,” he wheezes. “I can’t fucking see.”

Eddie watches Richie with wide eyes, feeling sick with guilt. He could have done something. He could have helped, but he didn’t. 

_ Coward. You’re a coward. _

Bill turns and looks at Eddie, expression pinched with anger. He advances on him, grabbing the collar of his t-shirt. The gesture is so sudden it makes Eddie recoil, back hitting against the wall.

“He cuh-could have fucking  _ died _ , man! You realize that?” Bill says. “We already lost Georgie, and— and Stan, and the kid— do you wuh-want Richie too?”

“Bill—” Mike says, taking a step towards him.

“ _ You want Richie too? _ ” Bill asks louder, shaking Eddie.

Mike places his hand on Bill’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Bill visibly calms a bit, but the look in his eyes is still intense.

Eddie feels himself trembling. Tears spring to his eyes and his throat's half-closed off with grief as he speaks.

“Please… please don’t be mad, Bill,” he says, eyes darting from Bill to Richie. “I was just scared.”

The fight in Bill seems to leave him entirely. He slowly lets go of Eddie’s shirt, expression growing sad.

“Thuh-That’s what It wants, right?” he says. “For us to be scared. Don’t give it to him.”

He gives Eddie’s chest a light pat before backing off, Mike gently guiding him to the side to calm down. Richie is sitting up on the floor, fixing his glasses. There’s a crack in one of the lenses, Eddie notices, and he feels another stab of guilt.  _ My fault. _

Beverly rests her hand on Richie’s shoulder, watching him with concerned eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m… fuck, I mean I’m gonna be scarred for life, but physically, I’m okay,” he replies.

Eddie still hasn’t moved. He feels the tears in his eyes spill over as Richie looks in his direction. His hand moves to wipe at them, turning his head so the others won’t see. Richie keeps his eyes on Eddie as he stands with Beverly and Ben’s help. Mike and Bill have wandered off toward the doorway It disappeared through.

“We have to keep going,” Bill says.

“To the cistern,” Mike agrees.

They both start down the basement stairs. Ben sighs and makes his way over, Beverly trailing behind him.

“So many memories,” Ben says. “All bad.”

Beverly glances back at Richie and Eddie, looking conflicted, before she hesitantly follows Ben and the others down the stairs. Richie makes his way slowly over to Eddie, trying not to startle him.

“Eds? Hey, look at me,” he says, voice soft.

Eddie swallows nervously and finally looks at Richie, trying not to think about the fact he almost just died. Their eyes meet, Eddie’s heart thudding painfully as he sees the emotion reflected in them. Richie frowns and raises a hand to Eddie’s cheek, tenderly brushing a stray tear away with his thumb.

“It’s gonna be okay, alright? We’re gonna be okay,” he says. “I’ll make sure of it.”

_ I wish we could be okay, I really do. I wish I could tell you. _

It’s killing him to lie, but it doesn’t matter at this point. He has to lie, for the sake of his friends. They can’t know what he has to do, and he  _ has _ to do it. He’s sure of that. Why else did he get caught in the deadlights? Why else would he have prophetic nightmares? He’s the only one who can do this. He’s the one who can save them.  _ If _ he has the courage to.

_ But what if I can’t? What if I freeze up again? _

“Eddie?” Richie asks when he doesn’t answer.

He snaps out of his thoughts and makes eye contact with Richie again.

“Yeah,” he says. “We’ll be fine.”

Richie’s eyebrows furrow, hand dropping back to his side. He looks like he's not convinced, but he doesn’t mention anything about it.

“Right. Exactly,” he says.

“Hey!” Ben calls, voice carrying from the basement. “You two coming?”

“Yeah,” Richie calls back. “Be right there.”

He looks back at Eddie, giving him a weak smile.

“I got your back, okay?” he says.

Eddie’s heart aches. He wants to cherish every last moment they have left together, every bit of affection. Even if they are in what’s possibly the worst and most filthy place on the planet. They’ve earned some softness. So, he smiles.

“Okay,” he replies.

Richie’s smile grows.

“Let’s go kick some clown ass,” he says, turning and heading toward the basement stairs.

Eddie follows, shaking his head.

“I don’t wanna think about clown ass,” he comments, earning a snort of laughter from Richie.

“What’s so funny?” Bev asks.

She’s standing beside the well’s entrance. Bill and Mike have already started down and Ben’s in the process of finding a foothold so he can start climbing. Richie flashes her a grin.

“Clown ass,” he says simply.

“Christ, Richie,” she says, but she smiles.

Ben chuckles, climbing down another row of stone. He’s almost not visible anymore.

“Don’t make too many jokes, I might fall to my death here,” he says. “Wouldn’t be the first time you almost killed me with laughter.”

“Ah, yes. The Pepsi incident of eighty-nine,” Richie says, nodding wisely. “Truly a dark moment in history.”

“You waited until I was drinking to say the punchline.”

“Well,  _ excuse me _ . No hard feelings here, B-Jamin’. I thought you’d spit it out like everyone else usually does, not  _ snort  _ it. Eds here was in prime splash zone distance.”

He lightly nudges Eddie’s side with his elbow. The gesture makes him smile again, but it doesn’t last very long. Beverly seems to take notice, a small crease forming between her brows.

“Sure,” Ben replies, climbing down a bit further. “Totally.”

Just before his head disappears below the rim of the well, he sticks his tongue out. Richie tries to flip him off in time, but he’s too late.

“Shit,” he sighs. 

The three of them stand in silence.

“Okay,” Richie continues, “so… who’s next?”

“I’ll go,” Eddie says.

He’s not ready for it in the slightest, but he knows that if he hesitates, he’ll never be. Richie glances at him, looking mildly surprised.

“Are you sure?” Beverly asks.

“I’m sure,” he replies, eyes trained on the well. “I, um… I don’t wanna be last.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Richie says, his hand moving to rest at the center of Eddie’s back. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Beverly nods.

“Mike and Bill are already down there too, so you won’t be alone either way,” she says.

It does make him feel a little bit better that he’ll be surrounded on both sides by his friends, but he knows what’s waiting for them below. Nothing could console him about  _ that _ .

The journey down the well is a lot less terrifying than Eddie thought. Of course, each tentative foothold he tests brings a new level of anxiety and images of him slipping, his body careening down to the depths, but other than that, the enclosed space is nice. He knows where he is, he knows there’s nothing lurking because if there were he would feel it pressed up against him. Things could be worse.

When he reaches the bottom, Ben’s waiting to help him drop the last several feet to the sewer below. He lands in the greywater and it soaks his jeans to the calves. His stomach heaves with disgust as he tries not to think about the plethora of bacteria  _ definitely _ surrounding them. Not to mention the amount of decomposed shit in there.  _ Fuck _ .

Bill glances over at Eddie and says something to Mike before wading over to him, lightly touching his shoulder to get his attention. He almost jumps.

“Try not to think about it too muh-much,” Bill says. “That’s what I’ve been doing.”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies, somewhat breathless. “Yeah, it’s just water.”

“It’s just water,” Bill repeats, nodding.

They’re interrupted by a loud splash as Richie loses his footing on one of the last stones of the well. He’s on his ass in the water, glasses slightly askew. Ben’s kneeling in the water beside him, half-soaked from trying to catch him.

“Jesus, Richie,” Ben says. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Make sure Bev gets down okay,” Richie says, making a face. “ _ Shit _ , my ass hurts.”

He fixes his glasses, taking a moment to glance at his dripping wet hands. Eddie can tell by the look on his face that he’s trying not to puke again. He gives a grateful glance at Bill, then heads over to where Richie is still sitting in the water, offering him his hand. Richie looks at it, then back up at Eddie.

“That was probably karma, huh?” he says, taking his hand.

Eddie helps him stand with some effort, trying not to be aware of the filthy water that’s now all over both their hands.

“Karma for what?” he asks him.

“For trying to get Ben to spray you with Pepsi when we were teenagers,” he replies. “Now  _ I’m _ in the fuckin’ splash zone.”

His smile is lopsided, warm. Eddie can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood. That’s the way he is, the way he’s always been. It’s the reason Eddie fell for him, years and years ago. His genuine heart, his soft eyes. He loses himself in them for a moment, not realizing he’s staring again. It’s an image he wants burned into his memory, Richie’s smile. Heaven knows how many times he’s said something funny just to see it.

“Eds,” Richie says, his smile faltering. “You okay, man?”

Eddie comes back to reality, blinking a few times. Their hands are still clasped. He doesn’t want to let go.

“Sorry,” he says. “Yeah, I’m fine I just… zoned out there for a second.”

Another splash sounds from behind them as Ben helps Beverly down into the sewer. Mike lets out a sigh, giving each of them a long look. He looks tired, determined. Maybe a little bit sad.

“Let’s keep moving,” he says.

He turns and starts wading down the long tunnel, Bill following shortly behind him. Richie keeps a hold of Eddie’s hand as they walk after them, keeping in the middle. Bev and Ben take up the rear, walking side-by-side. 

It’s a long hike to the cistern. The water level begins to climb the closer they get, slowly creeping up their legs until it’s almost at waist-level. Richie grips Eddie’s hand tighter over the water as the entrance to the cistern comes into view ahead. Eddie feels sick to his stomach.

The tunnel opens up into a large cavern. It’s a familiar sight, though most of it is flooded now. Eddie can still see traces of what was once there, though. Where they fought It as kids. An extremely decomposed teddy bear floats past him and he flinches away from it, bumping slightly into Richie.

“Jesus,” Richie whispers. “This place is even worse than I remember.”

Mike and Bill make their way further into the chamber, climbing up the raised mass of debris in the center. As they approach, Richie lets go of Eddie’s hand to climb up first. He turns back around once he’s there, sitting down and reaching out to offer his hand again. Eddie wades up to the edge, reaching up to grip Richie’s forearm. With a grunt, he helps haul Eddie up. The moment he’s on something solid, he sits down and scoots backwards, wanting to get away from the water.

Eddie sees Ben making his way up to the island, Beverly trailing behind. She suddenly turns around, flashing her light towards the tunnel they came out of. Ben glances back at her, looking concerned.

“Everything okay?” he asks softly.

“I just....” Bev starts, “I thought I heard—”

An ear-piercing screech of a laugh echoes around the chamber as what looks like a gigantic naked old woman with  _ so many eyes _ erupts from the water in front of Bev. Eddie feels all the muscles in his body freeze with fear. Richie stiffens beside him, eyes widening. Ben instinctively lunges forward to try and help, but he stops dead when the old woman grasps Beverly by the neck and hair. The old crone’s still laughing, glancing at each of them with wild eyes.

_ “Time to sink, Bevvie!”  _ she cackles. _ “Don’t be shy, the water’s just fine!” _

In a flash, both of them plunge under the surface. Ben immediately dives underneath the water, Bill following closely behind. Mike runs and jumps in after them. Richie quickly scrambles off the edge of the island to disappear into the darkness.

Eddie is alone.

He waits. None of them come up. The panic starts in his gut and spreads to his lungs, gripping them in an iron vice. 

_ They’re gone _ , he thinks.  _ I fucked this up somehow and now I’m the only one who survived. I should have told them, I should have fucking told them about the nightmares, this is all my fault. _

“Guys?” he asks timidly, throat tight with tears. “Guys, come on. Please don’t leave me here. I don’t— I don’t wanna walk out of here alone.”

Nothing.

_ “Please—” _

The surface of the water explodes again, this time with Bill and Ben holding Bev up, with Richie and Mike hovering close by. She’s crying and shaking, but she’s okay.  _ They’re all okay. _ Eddie exhales with relief, his eyes filling with tears.

“ _ Fuck _ , I thought you were— I thought I lost you guys,” he says.

Richie stares at Eddie and frowns. His lenses are speckled with water droplets, hair slicked back and dripping.

“You’re not getting rid of us that easy, Eds,” he says, voice a little hoarse.

Eddie tries to laugh, but he just lets out a small sob. Richie wades forward the moment the sound leaves him, climbing back up onto the debris to try and console him. He brings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and he immediately leans into him, resting his cheek on Richie’s damp shoulder. The anxiety in his chest quells a bit, but he’s still sniffling. Beverly is too, from what he can hear.

“Hey Mike?” Richie asks.

Mike glances at him, looking somber.

“Where do we go from here?”

“The symbol will lead the way,” Mike replies. “Come, I’ll show you.”

He makes his way to the island again, climbing up onto its shore. Eddie lifts his head from Richie’s shoulder and watches Mike move farther up, stopping to look down at something.  _ God _ , he wishes he could just sit here with Richie and not move, not go any deeper into this horror. He doesn’t want to go. Not even in the slightest.

_ But you have to, _ his inner voice says.  _ You promised. _

His mouth turns downward in a frown. Reluctantly, he shifts away from Richie and gets ready to stand. Richie lets his arm drop back to his side, grimacing at the effort it takes to stand back up. They’re not young anymore; all this walking and climbing is taking its toll.

Both of them join Mike, following his gaze to a rounded hatch in the wood beneath them. Eddie recognizes the symbol immediately. It’s the one from his nightmares. The moment they pass this, they’ll be in his vision. Fear grips at him again so strongly he almost doesn’t notice the others gathering around too, Ben keeping a hand on Beverly’s back.

“In the depths is where it crept,” Mike says, sounding as if he’s in a trance. “In the beneath to find relief.”

“It’s down there?” Ben asks.

“In the depths is where it crept,” Mike repeats, still staring. “In the beneath to find relief.”

Ben watches him with wary eyes.

“Is… he okay?” he asks.

“Man, I don’t think any of us are okay,” Richie says.

“What’s.... what’s down there?” Beverly asks, voice shaking.

“No one knows,” Mike answers.

He pauses, then bends down to grasp at the hatch’s handle, pulling it open. The gesture causes the rest of them to quickly back up, afraid at what might pop out.

“Whoa, hey Mikey, huh-hold on a minute—” Bill says.

Mike shines his flashlight down and all Eddie sees is chasm. It’s like the well, but tinier, and it seems to go on  _ forever _ . Without hesitation, Mike moves to sit on the edge of it.

“Alright,” he says.

“Mike, don’t—” Bill pleads.

“I’ll see you down there.”

_ “Mike—” _

“Mike, hold on, man!” Richie says. “Wait.”

Mike starts to climb down, ignoring them. After a moment, nothing bad happens. The beam from his flashlight shakes as he continues his descent. Bill’s mouth presses into a hard line and he sits down at the edge of the open hatch, giving all of them a serious look.

“We stuh-stay together,” he says.

“Okay,” Ben replies, though he sounds shaken. “Together.”

Eddie watches Bill start his way down, then Ben. He feels frozen again, all of his nerves vibrating with terror. What if this happens again down there? He froze up before and almost got Richie killed. Then again, when they all went into the water. Maybe if he doesn’t go at all,  _ maybe _ they’ll be okay then.

That’s it—  _ he’s _ the problem.  _ He’s _ the coward that gets them all killed.

“I can’t—” he says, shaking his head. “You guys, I can’t do this. I can’t go down there.”

Richie turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowing. Eddie takes a step back away from the hatch.

“I  _ can’t _ , you saw what happened before. I almost got you killed… I was gonna let you die because I fucking froze up,” he pauses, wheezing slightly in panic. “If you let me go with you I’ll— I’ll get us all killed.”

His hand reaches for the familiar comfort of the inhaler in his pocket. He hasn’t used one since he left New York, but he needs it now, fuck does he need it  _ right now _ . His finger presses down on the canister and he takes a deep breath of menthol-tinged air. It brings relief, but it also makes him feel like he’s small again. Just some scared kid.

“Eddie, Eddie—” Richie says, advancing toward him.  _ “Hey—” _

Eddie tries to take another breath from his inhaler, but Richie grasps his wrist, trying to stop him. He struggles against his grip, desperately trying to get his lips to reach the mouthpiece. It’s like he’s not in control of himself anymore; he’s all desperation and old habits.

“Hey, hey— give me it,” Richie says, grappling with him. 

“Richie, I  _ need _ it.”

“No you don’t. Let go. Let  _ go _ , you little turd.”

“I just need… one more, just one more.”

Eddie tries to get it to his mouth again, his finger pressing down on the cartridge accidentally with the effort. The air puffs out uselessly, taunting him.

_ “ _ Eddie,  _ stop _ .”

Richie shines the flashlight he’s holding in Eddie’s face, making him flinch away to get out of the blinding light. The inhaler loosens in his hand and Richie finally takes it, shoving it into his back pocket.

“Look at me,” he says.

_ I’m so weak. I can’t save him. _

“Eds, look at me.”

He feels Richie’s fingers lightly wrap around his wrist. When Eddie meets his eyes, he almost forgets how to breathe. Did he always look at him that way? There’s a softness in Richie’s gaze that he hasn’t noticed before.

“You had a moment, okay?” Richie continues. “You were scared. We’re  _ all _ fuckin’ scared, man. Jesus, this whole thing is like living in a nightmare.”

Richie’s fingertips trail down Eddie’s wrist to his hand, gently interlacing their hands together.

“Let me ask you something, though. Who killed a psychotic clown before he was fourteen?”

_ Oh. That’s right.  _ Eddie frowns, shifting slightly on his feet, hand shaking in Richie’s.

“Me,” he answers.

“Who stabbed Bowers with a knife he pulled out of his own  _ face _ ?”

He remembers the cold metal of the knife against his tongue, the sickening jolt when the blade sunk deep into Bower’s chest.

“Also me.”

“Who had the guts to up and leave his shitty wife?”

Eddie remembers how good it felt to leave, how he managed to drive all the way to Maine even after a severe panic attack. He takes a deep breath.

“Me.”

“Yeah,” Richie says, smiling. “You.”

He lets go of Eddie’s hand to rest his palm on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze.

“You’re braver than you think.”

Despite his fear’s best efforts to negate the words, Eddie knows they’re true. Richie wouldn’t lie to him about that. He cares too much.  _ God. God, I love him. I want him to be safe. He  _ **_will_ ** _ be safe. I’ll make sure of it. _

“Thanks Richie,” he breathes, locking eyes with him.

Richie’s hand moves to cup his good cheek, running his thumb along the spot where he usually gets a dimple. The gesture makes Eddie’s breath hitch in his throat, makes his body instinctively want to lean toward Richie’s. For a moment, he does, the distance slowly closing between them. Then, there’s a flash of emotion in Richie’s eyes that Eddie can’t place, and he lets his hand drop, taking a step back.

“I’ll go first this time,” he says. “It’s only fair.”

Before Eddie can think of something to say, Richie sits at the edge of the hatch. He finds his footing and begins his descent, leaving Eddie with Beverly. She waits until Richie is far down enough before speaking.

“Here. You’ll need this,” she says.

She holds the iron spike out to him, gaze set. Eddie’s eyebrows pull inward to form a crease in the middle of his forehead. There are tears in Beverly's eyes. Everything pieces together in his mind and he feels his heart drop.

“You… you know,” he says.

It’s not a question.

Beverly nods, her lower lip quivering.

“I saw it,” she says. “The first night I came to Derry. I— I didn’t know if it was real, but now, I…”

She trails off. The spike shakes in her hand.

“Does it work?” Eddie asks. “Will Richie be okay?”

Her eyes close for a moment, a tear slipping down her cheek. When they open again, Eddie can almost see the nightmare in their depths.

“Yes, honey. It works.”

Eddie  _ should _ be terrified at the revelation, but all he can feel is  _ relief _ .

“That actually makes me feel better. It’s worth it. What I’m gonna do.”

Bev doesn’t say anything. She looks so  _ sad. _

He reaches forward and grasps the spike, not taking his eyes off of hers.

“It’s something I have to do,” he says.

She shakes her head, breaking eye contact to look at both of their hands.

“You don’t have to. We can try to save you both, we can—”

“Bev,” Eddie says softly. “I saw it too. I  _ lived _ it. I’ve tried, believe me, I did, but… every time it was— it was always him or me. And I’m not gonna let it be him.”

Her gaze lifts to meet Eddie's again, a knowing look passing between them. Eddie remembers something she told him when they were kids. A secret. One he never told to anyone and only just remembered.

“You would do the same for Ben,” he whispers.

She frowns.

“I would, but that… it doesn’t make this any easier, Eddie. For anyone.”

In his mind’s eye, he can already see the aftermath. Worry floods his chest.

“He can’t know. Please, Bev,” he begs. “It’ll kill him if he knew I did this willingly.”

“I know. I won’t say anything, I promise.”

She lets go of the spike, and Eddie knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he can trust her. Beverly Marsh, the sister he never had.

“Bev?” he asks, voice small.

She looks up at him. Her cheeks are stained with tears.

“Remember when we used to play go fish? That was… one of the happiest moments of my childhood. I just want to—” his voice catches in his throat, more tears of his own threatening to fall. “I want you to know that I meant what I said back then. When I told you I loved you. You’re my sister. You are. And I’m… so fucking grateful.”

A watery smile graces her features before she lets out a sob, reaching her hand out to take his.

“I feel the same way,” she chokes out. “I do. I’m lucky I know you, Eddie.”

He squeezes her hand, taking comfort in knowing she’ll be safe too. They’ll all be safe. His friends. The people he loves most in this world. They’re worth any price he has to pay, and his love for them is stronger than anything It can throw at him.

He’s absolutely sure of that.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "You're one breath from my body  
> A satellite with stormy eyes  
> A heart that feels like running  
> But it's all right  
>   
> The way that I see you there  
> While my chest comes undone  
> Like water runs and crests  
> No cease in this beating drum"  
>   
> — "Silk" by Dustin Tebbutt

The rest of the journey to It’s lair is just as difficult as Eddie thought it would be. Every twist and turn of the tunnels, the  _ awful _ smell. He’s reminded of just how many children met their ends down here, how many  _ years _ of lives this thing has taken away. It heightens his anxiety about what’s to come, the events he knows  _ will  _ happen. 

He thinks about it as they make their way around corners and crawl through small spaces of rock. In his right hand, he holds Richie’s like a lifeline. In his left, he grips the spike Beverly gave him, not wanting to let it out of his sight. The weight of it in his hand feels important somehow, like it’s meant to be there.

There’s very little talk as the six of them navigate the last bit of the tunnels. Eddie feels Richie’s hand shaking in his as they enter a giant chamber of rock and he squeezes it a little tighter. His own hand is shaking too, because he knows this place. It’s the room he’s been in over and over again in his nightmares, the place It attacks them. This is where he’s supposed to die. 

In the middle of the cavern stands a circular formation of spikes, each one branching outward around a crater. It almost looks like a splash of water, frozen in time.

“This is it,” Mike says. “This is where It arrived. The beginning of everything.”

He turns to Bill and they share a meaningful glance. 

Richie points his flashlight toward the ceiling of the cavern and Eddie follows the beam of light up, up,  _ up— _ until it disappears into the dark. They’re definitely in a chasm, where It fell.  _ How long ago? _

“So this,” Eddie starts slowly, “has been under Derry the whole time?”

“It’s not infinite,” Mike replies, still looking ahead, “but from what I’ve learned, it’s been here a few million years.”

_ Jesus christ, we’re fighting a million-year-old eldritch clown from space, _ Eddie thinks. Not like he didn’t realize before, but now it’s all finally starting to hit him.

With each step they take toward the structure, more becomes apparent. Strange, viscous fluid pools at the edges of the spiked rock formations, dripping and floating upward, as if gravity has no meaning here. Eddie’s glad his feet still seem to be tethered to the ground. He hopes it stays that way.

Mike makes his way into the center of the crater and the rest of them follow suit, gathering within the circle of gnarled rock. They all watch as Mike takes the duffle bag off from around his shoulders and places it down. He kneels to unzip it, reaching inside to extract the leather artifact, setting it on a raised circle of stone in the center. Eddie can’t help but feel like it’s intentional, that they’re why it’s there in the first place. Like they were always going end up here.

“This is where the ritual must be performed,” Mike says, glancing at all of them.

Eddie shifts uncomfortably on his feet, realizing that whatever this ritual is, it probably goes  _ very _ wrong, based on the vision in his nightmares. 

“So what do we do?” Ben asks.

“It can only be killed in It’s true form,” Mike answers, sounding out of breath. “The ritual will reveal that form to us.”

“It’s true form?” Ben asks. “Do we know what that is?”

“I hope it’s something tiny and cute,” Richie says.

Everyone looks at him.

“Y’know like a little pomeranian or...” he trails off. “Okay, shutting up.”

Eddie cracks a smile.

“It’s light,” Mike corrects.

The answer is exactly the opposite of what Eddie thought it would be. He thought it would be suffocating dark smoke or the inky blackness of a void, but  _ light? _ Then he remembers: the deadlights.  _ Of course. Of course It’s true form is light, I’ve seen it. _ Those three balls of light he glimpsed as a child, before everything faded away.

“A light that must be snuffed out by darkness,” Mike finishes.

He reaches for the bag again and digs for a moment, pulling out a small Ziplock bag. From within it, he retrieves a bottle of lighter fluid and some matches, still dry. He opens the bottle of fluid and pours a generous amount of it into the relic’s opening; then he strikes a match, tossing it inside. A fire roars to life in seconds, licking the inner sides of the artifact.

“You place your tokens in the fire,” he says. “The past must burn with the present.”

“I’ll go first,” Bill says.

He pulls a damp, yellowed paper boat from his jeans pocket. Eddie’s heart sinks. The memory of the day Georgie went missing is clear in his mind; he can still hear the metallic ring of the telephone, the sound of Bill’s distraught voice muffled on the other line. His mother made him stay inside for a week after he ran off in the rain with Richie and Stan to help Bill look for him. That was the first real moment Eddie felt something shift in him, in all of them. Like the world had somehow changed with a single phone call. 

“This—” Bill continues, holding up the boat, “this is the uh… boat that I built with Juh-Georgie.”

His eyes are shining with tears as he leans down to delicately place it into the flames. It’s quickly devoured with a  _ hiss _ and Bill steps back. Eddie gently untangles his hand from Richie’s and reaches into his jacket, fingers making contact with his inhaler. He takes it out. 

“My inhaler,” he says, examining it. 

It’s not sentimental or meaningful like Bill’s paper boat. All it ever did was hold him back from living his life. He used it as an excuse to never take risks. No baseball team, no track. The closest he ever got to risk was observing from the sidelines, analyzing. Well. Fuck that.

_ I’m gonna risk everything for them and there’s nothing you can do about it. _

Eddie tosses his inhaler into the fire without another word. A sigh leaves him, hand dropping back to his side. He feels lighter. From the corner of his eye, he sees Richie glance at him. His fingertips find Eddie’s again and he laces them together.

“Proud of you, man,” he says softly. 

“Thanks,” Eddie replies, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Beverly unfolds a badly damaged postcard, her thumb tenderly running over the words written on it.

“Something that I wish I had held onto,” she says, voice somber.

She hesitates a moment before tossing it into the fire with the other tokens. When she steps back into the circle, Eddie swears he sees her look toward Ben. He’s the next to come forward, a creased paper in his hand.

“A page from my high school yearbook,” he says, smiling sheepishly. “I only got one person to sign it. I probably should have forgotten about it, but um… I couldn’t because I kept it in my wallet for twenty-seven years.”

Beverly smiles and looks down at her feet. Ben steals a glance at her and his smile falls just slightly before he folds the page back up and tosses it into the flame.

Richie shifts beside Eddie, reaching into his pocket to pull out a small coin.

“This is a token from the Capitol Theater arcade,” he says quickly, turning it over in his fingers. “Spent most of my summer there, you guys know the rest.”

He chucks it into the fire, shoving his hand back into his pocket soon after the coin disappears from view. Eddie recognizes how he sounds. Like he wants to get rid of it, wants to forget. The same way he felt about his inhaler. Everyone else seems to have items they want to hold on to, things associated with  _ good _ memories, but… that wasn’t the case with him, and it doesn’t seem to be the case with Richie, either.

“Y’know, it’s still funny you brought an actual token,” he jokes quietly, glancing at Richie.

“Right?” Richie says, giving him a small smile. “I did the homework to a T. Total A-plus student over here, as per fucking usual.”

Eddie puffs out a small laugh, grateful he succeeded in making Richie smile, if only just a little bit.

“You always did have the highest grades out of all of us,” Ben comments.

“All while still managing to sneak off behind the school with me for smokes,” Bev adds teasingly.

Richie shrugs.

“What can I say, I’m an enigma.”

Silence falls over them again and they all look at Mike, the last to go in the circle. He reaches over into the duffle bag again and pulls out what looks like a rock, tinged with a smear of red on one side. A small smile graces his features and he holds it up, looking toward Bev.

“Look closely, Bev. There’s where you hit Bowers,” he says.

She smiles and suddenly looks like she’s miles away, remembering.

“The rock fight,” she says.

“The day our bond was forged,” he adds, examining the rock. “The day we became the loser’s club. This is our strength.”

He holds it up again for all of them to see before dropping it into the fire.

Richie leans over a little toward Eddie.

“I don’t think that’s gonna burn,” he whispers.

“Yeah, well, your token isn’t either,” he replies quietly.

“Okay, Mister toxic fumes in a metal canister.”

Richie bumps his shoulder slightly against Eddie’s and Eddie has to suppress a laugh. God, Stan would have been so annoyed with them, joking around at a time like this. 

_ Oh. _ Wait, Stan.

“Hold on,” Eddie says, letting go of Richie’s hand again to dig into his pocket. “I still have Stan’s token.”

He pulls out the old shower cap, the material slightly slimy in his fingers from the greywater. A wave of nausea hits him and he does he best to suppress it. Mike nods and motions to the pyre. Eddie tosses it in, watching the flames eat away at the flowered design.

“Okay,” Mike says, staring into the fire. “Everyone join hands.”

Eddie’s hand finds Richie’s again easily, his other hand reaching out to grab Ben’s with the metal spike held between them. The rest of the losers follow suit until they’re all connected in a circle around the artifact. There’s a shift of energy in the room, a  _ weight _ to the air around them. Eddie knows that whatever is going to happen next is incredibly important.

“The ritual of Chüd is a battle of wills. Ours against It’s. The first step was our reunion. The second, the gathering of the tokens to restore our memories. This, the final step, is using the strength of our bond against It.”

The moment Mike says  _ It _ , the fire inside the artifact goes out, leaving them all in almost total darkness. Fear floods Eddie’s chest again and threatens to overwhelm him, but the warmth from Richie and Ben’s hands keeps him grounded.

“The fuck is going on?” Richie asks.

“Just wait,” Mike says.

A gust a wind comes from above them, followed by a small amount of light. Then, the cavern seems to open up like a gaping maw of teeth. Suddenly, three blazing orbs of light appear in the center, circling. Eddie squints against the sheer  _ brightness _ of them. He feels a deep, visceral dread grip his heart as he realizes what he’s looking at.

“What the fuh-fuck is that, Mike?” Bill asks. 

“Don’t look at them!” Mike yells.

“Fuck, are those the deadlights?!” Richie asks, frantic.

“Don’t look! Close your eyes!” Mike repeats. “Close your eyes and chant with me— turn light into dark, turn light into dark,  _ come on _ !”

Eddie closes his eyes and all he can feel is his friends’ hands shaking in his and the blast of  _ hot  _ air swirling from above them.

“Turn light into dark,” he says, voice trembling.

“Louder!”

“ _ Turn light into dark, _ ” they say together.

Again, and again, they repeat the words. At some point, Mike breaks off from the group and chants something in another language above their joined voices, sounding desperate. Eddie can see the deadlights getting brighter from behind his eyelids,  _ closer _ . Their chanting feels like a heartbeat, vibrating through each of them in a rhythm, connected by their joined hands. The light gets so bright that Eddie can feel  _ heat _ on his face as if he’s gazing up at the sun. His ears feel like they’re straining, almost popping from the concussive hum of the orbs he knows are drawing closer.

“Mike what the fuck is happening, man?!” Richie yells, breaking the chant.

“Keep going!” Mike replies. “We cant stop—  _ turn light into dark!! _ ”

“ _Turn light into dark!”_ Beverly joins. She sounds _terrified._  
  
The light is _blazingly_ bright; Eddie’s face feels like he’s standing in front of a burning building. He’s gripping Richie’s hand so tight that the bones in his fingers are straining not to break. There’s a single moment where the light seems like it’s about to burn through his eyelids and sear his retinas, but then everything goes dark and instantly _cold_.

“ _ Turn light into dark! Turn light into dark!” _ Eddie repeats. “Is it working? Did we do it?”

He’s met with what sounds like rubber squeaking and his eyes fly open. Mike is holding the lid on the artifact, arms shaking with the effort of keeping it sealed. There’s a flash of red beneath the lip of the cap and it takes him a second to realize he’s looking at a fucking _ balloon _ — a steadily growing, bright red balloon. 

“Is this part of it?” Beverly asks, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Mike— hey man, is this supposed to be happening?” Richie asks.

“Keep chanting,” Mike says, voice shaking. “Keep chanting!”

“ _ What?” _ Eddie asks.

_ This is where it goes wrong _ , he thinks.  _ We fucked it up and it didn’t work. _

“Keep chanting!” Mike yells again, trying to force the lid down.

The balloon keeps growing.

“ _ Turn light into dark!” _ Bill says. “Come on!”

They all start chanting again, but this time they’re disjointed, unsure. Eddie watches in horror as the balloon keeps expanding until Mike can’t struggle against it anymore. With a burst of air, the balloon doubles in size so rapidly that all of them flinch backward to get away from it. Ben lets go of Eddie’s hand and stumbles backward. Richie only grips Eddie’s hand tighter as he backs away, taking Eddie with him. 

The balloon doesn’t stop. It grows, and  _ grows _ , until all of their backs are pressed against the formation of rock around the crater. Eddie clutches the fence spike tightly, half tempted to try and thrust the point into the balloon’s rubbery exterior, but he’s afraid of what will happen. Beverly screams and ducks out of one of the holes in the side of the rock. Ben follows shortly after. Bill grabs Mike’s hand and tugs him out through the side.

“Hey,  _ hey _ , let’s go!” Richie yells, pulling on Eddie’s hand.

He doesn’t hesitate to follow him out. They all run as fast as they can away from the center of the chamber. Eddie glances back over his shoulder, just in time to glimpse the jagged edges of rock begin to dig into the balloon’s sides. He knows what’s coming, but nothing can prepare him for the ear-splitting burst that echoes through the cavern as the balloon finally pops. The sound of it hits like an explosive wave, sending all of them reeling to the ground.

Eddie’s ears are ringing. It feels like Bowers is driving his knife into the side of his temple over and  _ over _ . Richie shifts on the ground beside him and says something, but it’s muffled and distant. He repeats it after a moment, words slowly becoming clearer as he shakes Eddie’s shoulder.

“Eds? Come on, we have to get up,” he says. “We have to go, something’s not right.”

“Is everyone okay?” Bill calls. “Richie?”

“We’re over here!” Richie replies, helping Eddie stand.

“We’re okay!” Bev calls, clinging to Ben’s arm.

Eddie picks up a discarded flashlight from the ground and shines it around wildly.

“What about Mike?” he asks. “Where’s Mike?”

“He was— he was right next to me,” Bill replies, glancing around.

“Mike!” Ben yells.

“Mikey?!” Bill repeats, sounding frantic.

“I’m here!” Mike calls.

He jogs out of the darkness into the beam of Ben’s flashlight. Bill’s expression crumples with relief and he quickly walks over to Mike, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Yuh-you scared us, man,” he says.

Eddie’s relieved that they’re all okay, but he can’t shake the feeling that something is completely and utterly  _ wrong. _ It’s too quiet. Too easy. He knows the answer to his own question, but he asks anyway.

“Did we do it? Is It gone?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Richie says, glancing at Mike. “We did the ritual, right? Was that— was the fucking balloon thing It’s true form? Is It dead now?”

“The balloon popped, that’s good right?” Ben asks.

The light on Beverly’s flashlight goes out and she smacks it a couple of times with her hand. It flickers back on after a few hits, the light from the beam directly shining on the absolutely  _ giant _ face of a clown, half hidden behind the center rock.

“ _ Shit!” _ Richie screams.

All of them retreat backward except for Eddie, who stares at It’s face, eyes wide. He’s frozen with fear, staring down the creature from his nightmare. Richie rushes forward and grabs his hand again, tugging him backward just as It smiles at them and  _ giggles _ .

_ “Ohhh yes, tell them! Did it work, Mikey?” _ It taunts, voice low and warped.  _ “Did it?” _

It laughs— an awful cackling sound that echoes off the walls of the cavern and feels like it’s drilling into Eddie’s head.

_ “Tell them why your silly little ritual didn’t work!” _ It continues, long gloved fingers curling around the edge of the rock.  _ “It was all just a— oh, what’s the word?” _

It ducks down and peeks through a hole, yellow eyes trained on Eddie. He feels like It’s looking right through him, like It  _ knows. _

_ “A gazebo! That’s the one.” _

Another laugh. Eddie feels like he can’t breathe. His chest hurts with the memory of his visions.

“Wuh-what does that mean? Mike?” Bill asks, looking to him for an answer.

Mike’s eyes are locked on It. He doesn’t say anything.

_ “Oh, you’ve been a bad friend, haven’t you? _ ” It slowly rises up from where It was crouched behind the formation, towering like a skyscraper.  _ “You didn’t show them the truth, Mikey? What happened to the poor, delicious Shokopiwah…” _

“You lied to us?” Bill asks, voice cracking.

Eddie finally tears his eyes away from It and looks at Mike. His heart drops into his stomach when he sees the tears streaming down his cheeks.

“No, I— they didn’t believe!” Mike explains. “That’s why it didn’t work! We’re different!”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Mike?!” Richie yells. “ _ Fuck _ !”

“I needed something for us to believe, for us to remember! We were strong enough to defeat It once with that belief, I thought we could do it again!”

“It didn’t fucking die the first time, man!” Richie replies. “That’s why we had to come back!”

Another manic laugh bounces off the walls of the cavern. Eddie’s head snaps in It’s direction to see It disappear completely behind the rock. In seconds, smoke erupts from the center of the crater as the three luminous orbs rise into the air again, spinning rapidly. There’s a flash of light and Eddie looks away, knowing that It’s trying to lure them into staring.

“It’s the deadlights!” Beverly shouts. “Don’t look at them!”

The ground shakes with a  _ thump _ as It takes a step out from the smoke with one large, spindly leg.

_ “For twenty-seven years, I dreamt of this moment,”  _ It growls.

_ Thump, thump, thump. _ It walks completely out into the glow of the deadlights. Eddie can see all of It now, the  _ exact _ image from his dreams. A clown torso balanced on a mass of spider-like legs. Richie tugs on his arm again, trying to move them both away from the growing danger. It won’t sit still for long.  _ Something’s _ going to happen.

_ “I craved the taste of your flesh ripped from bone,”  _ It continues, eyeing each of them. _ “Oh, how I’ve missed your screams!” _

“Move back!” Ben calls, grabbing onto Beverly. “Everyone get back!”

Everyone retreats backward but Mike.

_ “I have been waiting for so long for this. Very. Moment!” _

“Mikey! You gotta move!” Bill yells, glancing between him and It.

“I’m sorry guys,” Mike says, defeated.

“Mike, come on!” Ben screams.

“Mike!” Richie joins in.

“I’m so sorry,” Mike says again. “I’m so  _ sorry. _ ”

_ “Time to flooooooaaaatttt!” _ It sings, raising one of Its legs.

A mass of smaller hands appear in It’s palm, opening up like a flower as a large, serrated spike sprouts out from the center. Eddie recognizes it as the instrument of his end. He glances, petrified, at Mike, who still hasn’t moved. It reels back, ready to strike.

“Oh, shit!” Bill says, rushing forward.

He collides into Mike  _ hard _ , sending them both toppling downward. The spike strikes the ground inches from their legs, sinking into the rock with a resounding  _ crack _ . Bill scrambles to his feet, trying to pull Mike up with him.

“Come on, get up!  _ Get up! _ ” he urges.

Eddie lets out a sigh of relief, but it’s cut off by a scream as It lunges at all of them again. Richie sprints forward in a burst of speed, pulling Eddie along with him. Bill manages to help Mike to his feet and in seconds, they’re all running. It clamors after them, legs slamming into the ground with each step.

“Go, go,  _ go!” _ Bill screams.

Its claw swings, barely missing them, barreling into the side of the rock and sending chunks of it falling. A large piece of it smashes to the ground mere feet from Eddie and he lets out what sounds like a yelp. His lungs feel like they’re on fire from the effort of moving his tired legs.

“Watch out!” Ben yells.

Eddie glances quickly behind them, catching sight of one of Its legs raising into the air.

“Fuck, move!” he says to Richie.

Each of them veer off in different directions. Bev and Ben rush off to the right down a passage, Mike slides underneath an outcropping and hunkers down. Eddie rushes up an incline of stone with Richie, toward what looks like a tunnel. Both of them turn around, hands still tightly clasped. Eddie desperately looks around for Bill; he was the only one he didn’t see get away. 

To his horror he spots him running, with It gaining. He sees Its jaws open, flashing row upon row of sharpened teeth, and for an awful second he thinks he won’t make it. At the last moment, Bill jumps through a crevice in the wall, disappearing out of sight just as Its mouth clamps down on nothing but rock.

Eddie huffs out another sigh of relief.

“Oh thank  _ jesus _ ,” Richie breathes. 

Its head snaps in their direction, causing Eddie to jump.

“Oh  _ shit _ !” he says.

“Can It see us?” Richie asks, attempting to keep his voice low.

Its spindly legs shift methodically, turning Its whole body toward them, face twisting in a grotesque mask of anger.

Both of them scream at the same time, Richie grasping Eddie’s hand like a vise. They turn and bolt down the tunnel, every nerve in Eddie’s back crawling with the sensation of It chasing them. 

“I don’t think It can follow here!” Eddie yells as they run. “The passage is too small!”

There’s a noise and both of them look over their shoulders to be instantly greeted by the image of one of Its arm stretching after them, the end of it lined with rows of teeth like a giant leech.

“Holy shit,  _ fuck _ , run!” Richie screams.

They sprint faster, Eddie’s legs so tired that they almost feel numb. Ahead, the tunnel draws to an end. Both of them skid to a halt, blinking disbelievingly at the scene in front of them.

There are three doors.

NOT SCARY AT ALL.

SCARY.

VERY SCARY.

“You gotta be fucking  _ kidding me _ with this shit,” Richie says. “ _ Again? _ ”

“Again?” Eddie repeats, a crease forming in the center of his forehead. “What do you mean again?”

“Bill and I saw this when we were kids,” he explains. “After we got separated from you.”

“Oh.”

Eddie turns and shines his flashlight behind them, worried that they’re about to be met with a face full of teeth. The leech-thing stops short, snapping uselessly at the air five feet from them. They’re safe, for now. Eddie glances back at the three doors again.

“ _ Fuck, _ okay, we have time. Which one is it? Not scary at all?” he asks.

“No,  _ no _ , Its fucking with us,” Richie says, shaking his head. “It  _ wants  _ us to pick that one.”

He looks toward the last door.

“Let’s go with very scary,” he suggests.

Eddie feels sick, but he trusts Richie more than he does his own gut instinct.

“Okay,” he says. “Okay, let’s do that one.”

They make their way forward, the dull snaps of Its teeth fading into the background. Richie takes a breath and lets go of Eddie’s hand, reaching for the doorknob. It creaks open even before his hand meets the metal, revealing a darkened closet. Eddie’s face scrunches with confusion. Richie just looks petrified.

For a moment, nothing, then:

_ “Where’s my shoe?” _

It’s a child’s voice, small and scared. Richie slowly reaches out and pulls on the string under the lightbulb. The closet’s illuminated with light and Eddie thinks it looks entirely unassuming until he hears something else.

_ Tap tap-tap, tap tap-tap…  _

A pair of dancing legs materializes out of the darkness at the back of the closet. The approach quickly, and the instant they the light touches them, Eddie realizes that there’s no torso, just a bloody stump of a waist. 

They scream in unison, Richie slamming the door shut before the legs can reach them.

“What the  _ fuck _ ?!” Eddie yells.

“Jesus fucking  _ christ _ !” Richie responds, free hand clutching at his chest.

They scramble backward, only stopping when the sound of the leech-arm’s teeth returns. Its still there, snapping at their backs.

“ _ Fuck _ , I’m sick of this, I’m so fucking sick of this,” Richie breathes, flashlight shaking in his hand.

“It’s okay, we’ll be fine, Rich,” Eddie says, trying to reassure him. “We just have to try the other door.”

“No, no, I’m not—  _ shit _ , I’m not talking about the doors, Eddie. I’m talking about this whole goddamn…  _ charade _ I’m playing at.”

Eddie glances at Richie, concern painted all over his face. Richie looks like he’s a few breaths away from a panic attack.

“What are you talking about?” he asks gently.

“It’s taunting me, It’s always been taunting me with this shit. Even at the Capitol Theater earlier with the token, I remembered—”

His voice cracks and he closes his eyes, taking a breath. Eddie peeks backward to make sure the leech isn’t about to bear down on them before he reaches over and places a comforting hand on Richie’s back.

“Richie,” he breathes. “Hey, it’s okay.”

“This is, like, the fucking  _ shittiest _ timing.  _ Fuck _ ,” Richie says, sniffling. He wipes the tears that are starting to slip down his cheeks with the back of his hand. “But I feel like if I don’t say this now, It’s just gonna keep using it against me, y’know?”

Eddie feels his throat tighten with grief. He hates seeing Richie like this. It takes all of his self control not to pull Richie close to him, wrap his arms tightly around his back, and tell him the  _ truth _ . That whatever he’s scared of, whatever ends up happening, he’ll be by his side the entire time.

“I’m here, okay?” he says. “If you’re ready to say it, I’m here to listen.”

Richie bites his lip, hand dropping to his side.

“Thanks, Eds,” he says. “I trust you. Like, with every fucking part of me, and I shouldn’t be so scared to say this, it’s just— I don’t think I’ve ever said it out loud before. Not to someone else, at least.”

They finally lock gazes and Eddie recognizes the look in Richie’s eyes. Earlier at the theater, before they got seperated, they had looked the same. Scared, pained. Trapped.

“I almost told you before, actually,” he continues, “at the theater. Fuckin’ clown cut me off.”

A little puff of a laugh escapes him, but it quickly turns into a shaky sigh.

“Fuck, okay, enough stalling or we’re both gonna be shishkebabs.”

Eddie rubs Richie’s back slowly with his hand, waiting.

“So all my material is about women, right? How hot they are, fucking them, whatever the  _ fuck _ . Same with my jokes when we were kids, right? Your mom this, your mom that… I was trying really hard. Still am. Plus the fucking…  _ closets. _ ”

Richie gestures at the doors, then takes another breath. He looks down at his feet, no longer willing to meet Eddie’s gaze.

“Truth is, I…  _ jesus _ , this is hard. Why is this so hard?”

He bites his lip again, closes his eyes.

“I’m gay, Eddie,” he finally says.

Eddie’s eyes widen. His first thought is,  _ I’m not the only one, _ followed shortly by,  _ does he love me like I love him? _ He  _ almost _ says ‘me too,’ but that would be bad, wouldn’t it? This is  _ his _ moment. Something he’s been struggling with as long as Eddie has— god, they’ve both been struggling for so  _ long _ —and he shouldn’t ruin it by inserting himself into the conversation. It can wait.

_ You don’t have much time left, _ the little voice in the back of his mind says, but he ignores it.

“I’m proud of you, Rich,” he says. “That’s… that takes a lot of courage to say.”

Richie opens his eyes and swallows the lump of anxiety in his throat before looking at Eddie. There’s relief in his gaze, Eddie notices, but he still looks a little apprehensive.

“You’re not, like, weirded out or anything?” he asks.

Eddie’s eyebrows furrow.

“Why would I be?”

“I’ve been holding your hand practically the whole time we’ve been back in Derry, and we also slept in the same bed. That doesn’t… it doesn’t make you feel weird?”

Eddie’s hand drops from Richie’s back to reach for his free hand, interlacing their fingers.

“No, it doesn’t,” he says.

Richie gives him a watery smile.

“You’re—  _ god _ where have you been my whole life, Eds?”

“I don’t know, but… if we hadn’t forgot, if  _ I _ hadn’t forgot—”

He squeezes Richie’s hand.

“I would have been right here. Next to you.”

Eddie hears the breath catch in Richie’s throat. He stares, unblinking. The air between them feels heavy.  _ Just tell him. Say it. _

Silence, except for the sound of his own breathing.

_ I love you, Richie. Say it. This might be your only chance. _

“Eds,” Richie finally says, voice soft. “You know, I—”

He’s interrupted by a roar that makes both of them jump. The leech-arm is banging itself off of the walls, screeching, gnashing Its teeth.

“ _ Shit _ ,” Richie says. “We gotta go.”

He still looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns and leads Eddie toward the door marked NOT SCARY AT ALL.

“I’ll do it this time,” Eddie says, reaching toward the doorknob with the hand that’s still grasping the fence spike.

He turns the knob and the door squeaks open. Richie shines his flashlight inside. It’s just another stone corridor, nothing else.  _ The way out. _

“This is it,” Eddie says. “Let’s go.”

They both move to take a step forward, but stop short when Richie’s light falls on something else.

In front of them, sitting politely and panting, is a pomeranian.

“Oh shit,” Richie says. “I don’t trust  _ that _ for a fucking second.”

“It’s like you said,” Eddie replies, “during the ritual. About Its true form.”

“Yeah, exactly. This thing’s a fuckin’ dick, I know it.”

“I’m not falling for this shit. Nuh uh. Don’t care if it’s cute.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s definitely a trick.”

Eddie hears something behind them and he glances over his shoulder. The corridor that leads back the way they came seems empty now.

“Rich, hey,” he says. “Its gone. We can get out.”

Richie breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thank  _ fuck _ .”

“Wait,” Eddie says, returning his attention to the dog. It’s standing on all fours now. “We shouldn’t turn our backs on this thing.”

“Well, what the fuck do we do?”

“I don’t know, make it sit or something?”

The dog’s tail wags.

“Uh, okay… sit!”

It does as Its told. A little bit of Eddie’s resolve fades. The dog is…  _ incredibly _ adorable.

“He actually did it,” Eddie breathes.

“That’s cute,” Richie says.

“Good boy!” Eddie coos. “That’s a good boy.”

“That’s actually super fucking cute.”

Eddie smiles and almost feels like laughing. Why were they scared again? 

The pomeranian blinks once, twice. Then, with an unholy shriek, it morphs into something awful. Its still a dog, but giant,  _ decomposing _ . It stands on two legs, the skin on Its skeletal arm hanging off as Its claws reach out to try and catch one of them in the neck.

Richie kicks the door with his foot, slamming it shut before It can do any damage. He swears loudly.

“Jesus christ,” Eddie says, wheezing. “Next time, let’s just go with the one that says scary.”

“Tell you what,” Richie replies, “there better not be a fuckin’ next time, or I’m gonna have  _ words _ with this shitty ass clown.”

They both start to make their way back down the tunnel, but Eddie stops halfway through, eyes widening. Richie takes another couple steps before his arm doesn’t go any further and he turns, giving Eddie a concerned look.

“Eds, hey, what’s going on?” he asks.

_ This is the tunnel, this is where the nightmare always started. _

“Eddie?”

A loud commotion comes from down the corridor. It sounds distant, but someone definitely yells, ‘ _ Mike!’ _

Richie’s head snaps back toward the exit, then he pulls on Eddie’s arm.

“Come on,” he says.

Eddie stands his ground, grip tightening on Richie’s hand. 

“We have to stop,” Eddie mumbles.

He doesn’t want to go. He doesn’t want either of them to go. What he wants is to  _ live _ . He wants to live, and he wants to be with Richie.

But he can’t have that, can he? Not without someone else dying.

“What d’you mean, stop?” Richie replies. “We have to  _ go _ .”

Eddie’s eyes sting with tears.

“We’ll die if we go out there,” he says.

Richie reaches out and takes hold of the fence spike so that they’re both holding it.

“Listen,” he says. “Eds, listen to me. We have to be brave, okay? They need us. Mike  _ needs  _ us. Losers stick together, come on.”

Laughter travels down the tunnel and Richie looks more panicked. Eddie feels something inside of him solidify, a will, a  _ determination. _

He makes his peace.

“Okay,” he breathes. “Yeah, losers stick together.”

Richie gives him a weak smile before he’s turning and sprinting again, Eddie following his lead. When they make it back into the cavern, It has Mike in Its grasp, mouth stretched wide, ready to clamp down. Before Eddie can stop him, Richie lets go of his hand and leans down to pick up a stray piece of rubble from the ground.

“Hey,  _ fuckface! _ ” he calls, hurling it.

The rock bounces off Its side. Its huge head turns, glowing yellow eyes focusing in their direction. Eddie feels sick with dread. All of this is almost verbatim.

“Guess what!” Richie continues, now that he has Its attention. “I chose truth! Suck on  _ that,  _ you sloppy bitch! Checkmate, mother—”

Faster than Eddie’s  _ ever _ seen it happen, Its mouth splits open, deadlights blaring. Richie doesn’t even have time to register what’s happening, let alone look away.

“ _ No!” _ Eddie yells.

Richie begins to float up into the air, arms hanging at his sides. His flashlight clatters to the ground, the beam of it landing on where Mike is laying on the cavern floor, mortified.

_ “Richie!” _ Eddie calls, voice cracking.

No response. Blood pools out of Richie’s nose and floats upward toward the ceiling.

_ Fuck, this is different. This is completely different, what the fuck do I do?! _

His hands tighten into fists and he feels the cool metal of the fence spike bite into his left palm.

_ Here, _ Bev had said, back in the cistern.  _ You’ll need this. _

Eddie takes a breath, steeling himself. He raises his arm and begins to sprint, thrusting the spear forward through the air with as much force as he can muster, aiming right for Its stupid,  _ fucking _ mouth.

_ For Richie. _

“Beep beep,  _ motherfucker _ !” he yells.

His makeshift weapon hits its mark. It chokes, spurts of blood and fire leaking from Its open maw. Richie falls  _ hard _ to the ground, knees going out from under him, landing on his back. Eddie watches It stumble backward, impaling Itself on one of the spiked rocks jutting out from the center formation.  _ Holy shit. Did I actually kill it? I think I actually killed it. _

But he can’t waste time dwelling on the thought. He rushes to Richie’s side, desperate.

“Rich!” Eddie says, hand moving to touch his cheek. “Richie?”

Richie doesn’t respond. His eyes are still glazed white.

_ He’s still in the deadlights. _

The thought awakens a memory in him, one that he almost forgot. The kitchen in Neibolt, twenty-seven years ago. Richie’s hands gently holding his face.

_ A kiss. _

His thumb strokes Richie’s cheek, mind flooding with years of memories, years of love that It stole from them. What they could have been. The life they could have had together. The  _ joy _ .

He leans down, lips meeting Richie’s tenderly. Every muscle in his body relaxes and even under the current circumstances, his heart manages to flutter. After a second, Richie stirs underneath him, then stiffens. Eddie starts to pull away, but Richie’s hand moves to rest on the nape of his neck, bringing him back to capture his lips a second time. The kiss is affectionate, maybe even loving. For an  _ incredible _ moment, Eddie is the happiest he’s ever been.

Then Richie’s hand slides down to Eddie’s shoulder, pushing him away just enough to break the kiss. He looks terrified.

“Richie?” Eddie asks, thoroughly confused. “What—”

He feels Richie’s hands on his waist, trying to guide him to roll sideways, and he  _ almost _ does it in time.

Almost.

Eddie feels his abdomen explode with pain as the spike rips through him. He braces his hands on either side of Richie’s head on reflex as it impacts, keeping it from impaling him, too. His blood splatters all over Richie’s shirt, his glasses, his face. He hears distant screams from behind him, Bill’s being the loudest.

“ _ Eds, _ ” Richie whispers, eyes wide. His hand reaches upward, fingers grazing his cheek. “Eddie, don’t…  _ don’t _ .”

“Richie,” Eddie replies, the inside of his mouth tinged with iron. He feels some of it leak out, drip down his chin. “I’m sorry.”

He wants to say more, but the pain worsens and becomes  _ searing _ as It hoists him up into the air.

“Eddie!” Richie yells again, reaching for him.

_ “Oh no!”  _ It taunts. Eddie can feel Its voice vibrate through his very bones.  _ “Poor, poor Eds!” _

Eddie lets out a sob, hands grasping at the edges of the spike to try and lessen the pressure being held up is putting on his lungs. It’s slick with his own blood and he can’t get a good hold on it.

He shouldn’t even be trying. He knows how this ends.

_ No you don’t. You don’t know how this ends, you always woke up. _

It laughs and swings Eddie around, showing him off, making an example of him.

_ “The perfect little sacrifice!”  _ It bellows. _ “Too bad it didn’t work! I’m going to kill every last one of you!” _

Eddie’s stomach turns with the sensation of falling as It flings him sideways. He feels the spike exit his abdomen violently, sending more of his blood raining to the rocks below. He hits the ground so hard that he feels several of his ribs crunch on impact. Then he’s tumbling down a mountain of rock, each hit sending waves of new agony through his entire body. 

When he finally reaches the bottom, he holds onto consciousness for a few more seconds before everything fades to black.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder that this fic _does_ have a happy ending! hang in there! ❤


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> "Everything is dark  
> It's more than you can take  
> But you catch a glimpse of sun light  
> Shinin', shinin' down on your face  
> On your face  
> Oh your face
> 
> Oh you're in my veins  
> And I cannot get you out"  
>   
> — "In My Veins" by Andrew Belle  
> 

Consciousness comes to Eddie slowly. The first thing he hears is a distant voice screaming something. Between the ringing in his head and the sudden awareness of the burning pain in his gut, he can’t make out the words, but he immediately knows it’s Richie’s.

He can also hear his own heartbeat, feel the pressure of it pulse between his eyes in the beginnings of a headache. Every time he takes a breath he feels like his entire abdomen is being held in a vice grip. Each flash of pain is a knife sinking into his organs, his lungs. _God_ , looking back on it, maybe getting stabbed in the fucking face wasn’t so bad.

“Eddie?! _Eddie!”_

Richie’s voice gets close enough to understand and he can feel the ground around him shaking with the impact of frantic footfalls all around him. He wants to make a sound, but he’s scared that if he tries at all, he’ll fall apart.

“Eds? Fuck, someone help me, someone fucking help me!” Richie says.

He feels hands on him, gingerly trying to find a place to touch, before the grip tightens and he’s slowly lifted into a sitting position against the rock. His insides scream and he gasps, wincing when the effort of even just that brings on more agony. Most of his ribs are _definitely_ broken. His skull is still throbbing, verging into migraine territory— concussion, probably. Not to mention whatever damage It did to his stomach which, admittedly he hasn’t had the chance to look at just yet.

His friends’ reactions tell him enough.

“No,” Beverly gasps in a half-sob.

“Oh jesus,” Richie breathes. “Fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie finally opens his eyes, his vision blurring for a moment before clearing up enough that he can see the way Richie’s looking at him. It makes his heart clench with guilt, but he’s okay with bearing it. The important thing is that the rest of them are okay.

And he’s… not.

There’s an oozing hole in his stomach. Blood pools from it in slow waves every time he takes a breath. Part of his intestine is hanging out, strangely pinker than he thought it would be. Like chewed up bubble gum stuck under a desk. It would be funny, if he wasn’t dying. He can barely keep his eyes open.

Richie presses something to the wound, hands shaking. Another flood of pain hits Eddie and he has to squint his eyes tightly shut for a moment to keep from screaming.

“Keep this on it for pressure, it’ll— it should help with the bleeding,” Richie says, looking sick.

Eddie moves his hands and holds what he realizes is Richie’s nice leather jacket to his injury, opening his eyes again to lock onto his gaze. There’s tears in his eyes.

“Thanks Rich,” he croaks.

“Yeah, of course,” he replies, then softer, repeats, “of course.”

His hands don’t move from the jacket.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Ben asks, barely holding himself together. “We— there’s no way out of here is there?”

Mike shakes his head.

“Not unless we go back the way we came,” he says. “There may be another way, but we’d risk getting lost in a maze of tunnels over a millennium old. And we can’t leave just yet. It has to die.”

“ _What?_ No. We have to get out of here, we gotta fucking do _something_ ,” Richie says, glancing desperately around at all of them. “We have to get Eddie help, he’s— he _needs_ help.”

“Richie,” Eddie says, but it’s too quiet for anyone to hear.

“I don’t think we cuh- _can_ get help, Rich,” Bill says, voice strained. “You heard what Mike said, we— there’s no other wuh-way out.”

“It doesn’t fucking matter, we have to try!” Richie replies, obviously on the verge of panic.

Bev’s lip quivers and she covers her mouth, closing her eyes to compose herself.

“The only way we can help is by killing It,” Mike says. “ _Please_ , you have to understand—”

“I don’t! I don’t fucking understand why you all just wanna _leave_ him here and let him—” Richie’s voice cracks and he lets out a shaky breath. “Let him suffer like this.”

Eddie’s whole body feels like an open wound, but he still manages to lift one of his hands to rest it on top of Richie’s, squeezing weakly.

“Richie,” he says again, a little louder. The effort makes him cough and the taste of iron fills his mouth.

Richie’s attention turns back to him. His eyes are shining with tears.

“Mike’s right,” he continues, wheezing. “If… if we don’t kill It, we’re all dead. Including me.”

Richie flinches slightly at the word _dead_ and Eddie feels awful for having said it. Through all the pain he’s feeling, the worst of it is in his chest— a crushing sadness, a knowing that makes his throat tighten with tears. He won’t be here much longer.

“Don’t say that,” Richie says. “You’re not gonna die. None of us are gonna die, I— I said I’d make sure we’d all be okay back at the Townhouse, remember?”

“Yeah,” Eddie replies weakly. “I do.”

He wishes more than anything to be back in that room, Richie’s arms around him. It feels like a year has passed between then and now, but it was only just last night. 

“Good,” he replies, flashing him a shaky smile. “I meant it.”

The corners of Eddie’s mouth twitch up slightly, his hand tightening overtop Richie’s. His skin feels almost hot under Eddie’s palm and he has the awful realization that his own skin is growing colder. There’s a chill sinking into his bones. Another wave of pain burns through his stomach and he leans his head back against the rock, too weak to hold it up anymore. His eyes squeeze shut and he takes a few shallow breaths, hoping that whatever adrenaline he has left kicks back in soon.

“We have to work fuh-fast,” Bill says, voice trembling. “I don’t— I thought It was duh-dead when Eddie hit It, so I don’t know what we need to do. Fuck, what do we _do_?”

“It didn’t die, but I think It’s hurt,” Beverly says.

Eddie feels her gaze on him and he cracks his own eyes open just enough to look at her.

“You hurt It,” she continues, meeting his eyes. “Just like I did when we were kids, in the kitchen.”

“Belief,” Eddie mumbles. “I believed I could… kill It. Like the leper.”

“The leper?” Ben asks. He sits down beside Eddie on the ground, trying not to glance down at the bloody mess of coat being held to his stomach. “You said you ran into It earlier… you tried to kill It then too?”

“Yeah, felt like it. I… got my hands around Its throat and It was choking. Could feel—” Eddie pauses to cough and wince. “Could feel Its heartbeat. Made It feel small.”

“Made It feel small,” Beverly repeats. She glances back at Mike, a realization coming over her. “Maybe we can force It down to size, make It easier to kill.”

Mike nods slowly.

“That tracks,” he says. “It has to abide by the laws of the form It inhabits. Whatever we believe It to be, It will be. We can use that against It.”

“We’ll have to get buh-back up there somehow and corner It,” Bill says.

“I’ll check that tunnel,” Ben says, looking up toward the back of the rock that surrounds them.

He stands and half-jogs toward it, disappearing into the darkness. Eddie’s eyes drift closed again as another wave of pain washes over him. Richie’s hand shifts slightly under his and he feels a pang of guilt at how much he knows he’s worrying him. He’s not sure how much time passes until he hears Ben’s voice again.

“It’s a passage,” he says. “Leads back up the way we came to another side of the cavern. We can use it.”

“Let’s get going then,” Mike says.

“Bill,” Richie says. “Can you help me carry Eddie? I don’t wanna move him too much.”

“Yeah, I can,” Bill replies. Eddie hears the rocks scrape beneath Bill’s shoes as he moves closer.

“Eds?” Richie asks. “We’re gonna pick you up. Are you able to move at all?”

“Not really,” he croaks in response.

“Okay, that’s fine. Bill, just put his arm around your shoulder, I’m gonna do the same.”

“Guh-Got it,” Bill replies.

Eddie winces as he feels them both lift his arms and drape them around their shoulders. Bill’s arm wraps around his back to support him, hand resting on his upper ribcage to avoid the wound. Richie follows suit, using his other hand to keep the jacket held against Eddie’s stomach.

“On three,” Richie says. “One, two, three.”

They lift him and his stomach explodes with pain at the movement. He gasps, the metallic tang of blood on his tongue. For a second he loses consciousness, or at least he thinks he does, because the next thing he knows, they’re setting him back down. His head lolls back against the rock.

“Eds? Hey, you okay?” 

Eddie opens his eyes, vision blurred for a moment before Richie’s worried face comes into view.

“Yeah,” he breathes, moving his hands to rest on the jacket again. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Thank fuck.”

“It’s still over by where we were,” Ben says quietly, hiding behind the outcropping of rock.

Bill gives Eddie an anxious look then stands, looking toward Mike.

“What’s the plan?” he asks.

Eddie feels his eyelids drooping again. The voices of his friends fade some as his ears begin to ring.

“Eddie. Keep looking at me,” Richie says, voice coming through clear as day. “You gotta stay awake, man.”

He forces himself to hold Richie’s gaze. Neither of them say anything, they just look at each other. Richie’s hand finds his again and he gives it a gentle squeeze. The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches upward in a weak smile. Richie returns it, but there’s a sadness behind his eyes.

Time passes. The others leave, but Richie stays. He stays even as It’s laugh bounces off the cavern walls, as there’s shouting and screaming. Silent tears slip down his cheeks as he keeps looking at Eddie, flinching every time another noise pierces the silence between them. He only breaks eye contact to look toward the others as the chanting of _clown_ echoes through the chamber. He joins in— _stupid fucking clown!_ It all sounds so far away to Eddie. Like he’s thirteen and underwater at the quarry, hearing his friends’ joyous screams above him, muffled. His eyelids feel heavy, but he doesn’t want to close them. All he wants to do is look at Richie because he’s not sure how much longer he has to look at him. It’s funny, how much he’s taken for granted, even when he knew this was coming.

The others need help, though. They’re stronger together, Eddie knows that. He’s too hurt to move, but Richie can still do something. One last push to the finish line.

“You have to go,” Eddie croaks.

Richie turns his head back to look at him, eyebrows pulling together in an expression of complete disbelief.

“What?” he asks. “No, I’m not leaving you here.”

“Richie,” he breathes, more of a plea than a name.

He feels Richie’s hand shift under his, moving to rest on top of it. The gesture lightly jostles the jacket at Eddie’s stomach and makes his insides burn, but the pain’s more dull than sharp at this point. Richie squeezes his hand and looks him in the eyes.

“Eds, I _can’t_ ,” he says, voice hushed, _urgent_. “If I leave and you—”

His words catch in his throat and Eddie sees more tears brimming behind his glasses.

“If you—” he tries again, but he can’t get the words out.

He bows his head slightly, eyes closing. Eddie’s mouth twitches downward in a frown. In the short time he’s had to think about all this, he never let how hard this would hit Richie sink all the way in. It hurt too much, knowing he was the one doing this to him. Selfish, really. He just couldn’t handle the thought of losing Richie so he had to go and sacrifice himself instead. That age-old story, told time after time— someone always has to go first.

“Rich,” Eddie whispers, sounding more tender than he means to.

Richie looks up, tears making tracks down his dirty cheeks. Eddie feels his heart tearing itself to shreds.

“I’ll be here when you get back. I promise.”

He intends to keep that promise.

“Promise?” Richie repeats softly.

Eddie smiles weakly in reply, feeling exhaustion settle over him like a blanket.

“Okay,” Richie says. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

He moves to stand, but hesitates at the last second, locking eyes with Eddie once more. His lips press into a thin line and he sighs out of his nose before leaning forward to softly kiss Eddie’s forehead. For a brief moment, all the pain leaves Eddie’s body. He feels warm and, impossibly, _happy_. He’s hundreds of feet below the worst town on the fucking planet and bleeding out, but Richie still has the ability to make him feel at home just by being there with him.

Richie pulls away and gives Eddie’s hand one last gentle squeeze. Then he lets go, standing up and running off toward the distant voices of the others. His absence makes Eddie’s hands feel colder than they already were. It’s in his chest too, the cold. Numbness. _Fuck._

His eyelids droop slightly and he jerks awake before they can shut, wincing. He grips tighter at the jacket, willing himself to stay alert. The sides of his vision are darkening, his breaths becoming more shallow. 

Eddie’s mind wanders and he finds himself thinking about the time they all spent together twenty-seven years ago. He can see them all in his mind’s eye, taking running leaps off of the cliff at the quarry; he feels the sudden, terrifying drop of his stomach as he plummets downward. The water there was always cold, even in the heat of the summer. If he thinks about it hard enough, he can feel the coolness of it on his skin, the warmth of the sun on the back of his neck. Richie squinting at him with his wild hair plastered to his forehead, practically blind without his glasses. He and Stan send a splash of water Richie’s way, grinning at the yelp it gets out of him. Beverly hears the commotion and joins in, getting Eddie square in the side of the face with a wave. Half of it hits Stan, who pretends to look offended before he’s laughing his ass off, water dripping from his curls. The others take notice and it becomes a full on war. Eddie laughs so hard he cries and jumps on Richie’s back, pushing him slightly under. _Oh the humanity!_ Richie yells when he resurfaces. _I’ve been murdered in cold blood!_ He’s so dramatic and loud and he’s smiling and _god_ Eddie’s the luckiest kid alive. He sees the glint in Richie’s eyes and knows he’s plotting his revenge. _Don’t you fucking dare, Rich,_ he warns, still laughing. It doesn’t stop Richie from swimming closer. _He can dish it out but he can’t take it, folks!_ Richie says in his most annoying announcer voice. _Come on—_

“—Eds? Hey… hey, we did it, man.”

Eddie feels like a ghost, all memory and thought floating in place with no body. He certainly can’t feel much of anything, not until the dull sting of pain in his left cheek throws him back into himself. A weak rush of air enters his lungs and his eyes flutter open, vision so blurry he doesn’t immediately recognize his surroundings. Everything seems so far away, like it’s all at the end of a tunnel he’s sitting in the middle of.

Richie’s face comes into focus first. His worried expression melts into one of relief and Eddie feels the pressure on his cheek move to his neck. It takes him a second to realize Richie’s hand is on him. His skin almost burns under his touch. _It’s because you’re dying,_ he thinks. _Your body is cold._ The strange thing is he doesn’t feel cold. Not anymore, at least.

“We killed It, Eds. It’s gone,” Richie continues, smiling. “It’s over, we can get you out of here now.”

His tone sounds hopeful and it makes Eddie feel sick. He takes a breath, the sound of it rattling through him.

“Rich, I—” the effort of speaking makes him dizzy and his eyes almost close again, but he forces them to stay open. “I can’t… move.”

Richie’s eyebrows furrow. Eddie hears a choked sob come from somewhere to the right of him.

“Richie, honey,” Bev says softly, resting her hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think there’s anything we can do.”

He turns to her and Eddie can’t read his expression.

“What? No, come on. He’ll be fine, we just gotta get him help,” he says, turning back to Eddie. “You’re gonna be okay Eds, I can carry you again if you can’t move.”

Eddie’s vision blurs with tears. There’s a weight on his chest that keeps getting heavier. He doesn’t want this. He never wanted this. If he had a choice, no one would have to die. His only comfort is knowing the rest of them will walk out of here okay. They’ll have a chance at happiness and that makes him happy, too. Even if it means he has to go. He just wishes he didn’t have to.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie wheezes. “I can’t… I’m not gonna—”

He’s running out of air and his body shudders with the attempt to get more. Bill slowly kneels to the right of him and he feels his hand on his arm, squeezing gently.

“We’re here,” he says, voice wavering. “You’re nuh-not going anywhere without us.”

“He’s not going anywhere period, we— we _have_ to get him out of here,” Richie insists, sounding like he’s on the verge breaking down.

Beverly kneels down as well, between Richie and Bill, her hand not leaving his shoulder. She doesn’t say anything. Her head turns in Eddie’s direction and he can see she’s crying too. Mike takes slow steps toward them, looking broken as he kneels on Eddie’s left.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“S’okay,” Eddie manages.

Ben is still standing, hugging himself with his arms. He lets out a distraught sigh and moves to kneel with the rest of them, between Richie and Mike. Everyone but Richie seems to have accepted the inevitable. He’s still looking at Eddie, desperation in his gaze, a clinging hope.

“Eddie,” Richie says, almost a whisper. “ _Please._ ”

“I can’t,” he replies, vaguely aware of the tears slipping down his own face. It’s getting more difficult for him to speak, but he has to get this out. “I’m... okay, though. I’m glad I remembered. Wouldn’t… wouldn’t change any of this. I love you guys.”

Richie’s face crumples and he finally chokes out a sob, sliding his hand back to support the nape of Eddie’s neck. He leans forward, slowly drawing their bodies closer until he’s holding Eddie tenderly against him. Eddie lets his eyes close, sighing into the embrace. He can feel Richie trembling, hear his whimpers. Everyone else shifts closer, arms surrounding both of them until they’re one big huddle. Eddie’s completely surrounded by his friends— the only people who ever truly loved him, the _real_ him.

It isn’t so bad, dying like this.

“We love you too,” Bill says, voice sounding miles away.

Eddie’s heart clenches in his chest. There’s one more thing he wants to say, but he doesn’t know how much time he has left.

“Richie,” he whispers, mouth barely moving.

He feels Richie’s breath shudder against his neck in reply. With all the air he has left in his lungs, Eddie finally says what he should have the moment he saw Richie again at the Jade.

“I love you.”

Richie’s stiffens slightly before holding him tighter. The feeling of his body pressing against him, the closeness of his friends— it all dissolves into a warmth that envelops him completely. He feels… peaceful, calm. He’s floating on his back beneath the summer sun.

In the moments between, before Eddie’s senses leave him completely, he’s carried off in the tenderness of the last words he hears.

“I love you too.”

_Blinding light._

_It’s bright enough that it makes Eddie squint and cover his eyes with his arm for a moment, until it dims enough for him to finally see clearly._

_He’s in the clubhouse. Not the clubhouse now, but… the clubhouse then. The posters stuck to the walls are barely faded, only minimally crinkled. There’s a thin layer of dirt covering everything, but it’s not the caked dust he remembers seeing the last time he was here._

_Is this a memory? Maybe those stories about living through old memories before you die are actually true, Eddie thinks. He hears laughter and his attention moves to the ladder, where one by one, the losers appear. His heart aches as he sees each of them, young again. They’re just like he remembers them. Voices rise over one another— plans about what games to play, debates about which comic issue was better. Eddie watches with fond interest, feeling himself smile even though he’s pretty sure he’s nothing but an amalgamation of thoughts and memories at this point._

_Some of the losers look upset and Eddie has the painful realization that this isn’t just any normal day. He remembers this one clearly; Beverly’s last day in Derry. She was moving in with her aunt, far away. They had promised to write letters, and Eddie had, once or twice. At some point she just stopped responding, though, which he realizes now was the work of failing memory. There’s a lot of hugging, a lot of tears._

_Then, the scene shifts around him. There’s only six losers now, and they look somber. Oh. This time Bill’s leaving, Eddie realizes. Beverly had been difficult for him, but the devastation of having one of his oldest and closest friends move away hit Eddie hard._

_“Duh-Don’t worry guys,” Bill says. “I’ll write, promise. We can stuh-stay in touch and plan a reunion sometime.”_

_They didn’t, but it was a nice thought at the time._

_The scene changes again. This time, Richie’s leaving. For once, he’s not talking or making jokes. He’s just sitting, hunched over with his glasses hanging from his hand. Eddie’s head is on his shoulder and they’re both crying, Richie less quietly. Stan gently rubs his back, silent tears making their way down his cheeks._

_“We’ll stay in touch, like Bill said,” Mike speaks up._

_“No we won’t,” Richie says, not intending to sound mean. “When’s the last you heard from him?”_

_Mike looks dejected. Ben makes his way over and puts his arm around him for comfort. Richie lets out another sob._

_“I didn’t— I’m sorry, none of this makes any fucking sense,” he says. “Why aren’t they talking to us anymore?”_

_“Maybe they’re busy with school?” Ben asks._

_“You’re heading out soon too, aren’t you?” Eddie speaks up, voice thin with sadness. “To Bar Harbor.”_

_Ben glances away, letting his arm drop from Mike’s shoulders._

_“Yeah.”_

_Another change. Richie’s gone now. Ben is sitting on the dirt floor of the clubhouse, holding a box of cassettes in his hands. Eddie is laying in the hammock alone, staring at the ceiling. Stan and Mike are sitting side by side, watching Ben shift through the cassettes._

_“You can pick whichever ones you want to keep, I’m leaving my walkman here. To remember me by.”_

_Mike frowns._

_“Won’t you miss it?” he asks._

_“Yeah, but it’ll make me feel better knowing you guys are listening to them. Besides, I wanna save up for a new one myself once I get my first job.”_

_He hands Mike one of the cassettes, smiling._

_“Here. I know you like this one.”_

_Mike smiles, though it’s sad, and takes it._

_“Thanks, Ben.”_

_Eddie turns over in the hammock, watching them. His eyes are puffy from crying._

_“You’re not gonna remember us, are you?” he asks, voice small. “No one else did.”_

_Stan glances over, expression sympathetic._

_“You haven’t gotten a letter back from Richie?” he asks._

_Eddie shakes his head._

_“It’s been a month.”_

_“I don’t think I’ll ever forget you guys,” Ben says, glancing around at them, “and even if I did, I wouldn’t forget this. How you made me feel.”_

_“Like home,” Stan says._

_“Yeah,” Ben replies. “Like home.”_

_Everything changes again and it’s just the three of them. Eddie feels awful when he realizes this is it— the day he left. He’s crying, smooshed between Stan and Mike._

_“What’s gonna happen when I go? Am I gonna forget like everyone else did?” he asks between sniffles._

_“I don’t know,” Mike says softly. “My grandfather told me once that something happens to people when they leave this town. If people do forget, they’re not doing it on purpose.”_

_“I don’t want to forget,” Eddie replies. “If I forget you all, I’ll have nothing. I don’t think I’ll ever have friends like you again.”_

_“You’ll be okay, Eddie,” Stan reassures him. “I know you’ll be. You’re strong.”_

_“Yeah, and I don’t think we’ll be away from each other forever,” Mike adds._

_“You think so?” Eddie asks, perking up a little bit._

_“I feel like we’re meant to be friends. All of us. Like we’re always gonna find our way back to each other.”_

_Eddie watches this and feels something twinge deep within him— whatever he is, now. Mike was right. They were always meant to find each other again._

_The scene changes once more and Eddie feels confused. How are these memories still playing if he’s no longer in them?_

_It’s just Stan and Mike now, sitting quietly. Stan speaks up first._

_“I’m sorry, Mike,” he says._

_“You don’t have to be sorry, Stan. I figured I’d be the last one here.”_

_“It’s not fair. That you’ll remember while the rest of us won’t,” he sighs and reaches over to rest his hand on Mike’s. “You deserve better than this shit town.”_

_“Thanks. Remembering won’t be so bad, though. The best memories of my life were with all of you.”_

_“It’s worse to forget, I think,” Stan says. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel this way again. Like Eddie said.”_

_“I know. I think the same thing.”_

_Stan sighs and looks away, tears slipping rapidly down his cheeks. Mike frowns and puts his arm around him, pulling him close. They sit like that and cry for a good while before their forms fade completely, leaving the clubhouse empty._

_Eddie’s eyebrows furrow, gaze fixed on where they were just moments before. He doesn’t understand why he’s here, what the memories mean. It’s clear that he’s passed on to something else— he’s no longer in the world as he knows it. Is this some kind of limbo?_

_“It’s good to see you, Eddie,” someone says from his left. “Although I wish it were under different circumstances.”_

_He turns, startled, glimpsing a pair of familiar eyes. The last time he saw them he was looking at a photo on a computer screen. Seeing him now in person, though, he can still see the kid he knew in them, though he looks infinitely more tired._

_Stan smiles, understanding softening his features._

_“I know,” he says. “This is all very… shocking. I felt the same when I first got here.”_

_Eddie just stares. He feels like crying even though he’s not even sure if he can._

_“Stan,” he breathes. “Fuck, it’s really you.”_

_“It’s really me,” Stan repeats._

_They hold eye contact for a moment before Stan glances away, hands moving to rest half inside his trouser pockets. Eddie realizes he’s dressed well— a nicely ironed plaid button-up shirt tucked into tweed pants, topped off with a navy cardigan. It’s all very… Stan. He can’t help but smile at it, how similar he is, how similar they all are now. It’s like looking at an echo._

_“You look good,” Eddie says._

_That makes Stan’s smile widen just slightly._

_“Thank you.”_

_“Probably the best dressed out of all of us,” Eddie continues._

_“Which is a shame because Richie and Bill probably have stylists.”_

_God, he missed his humor. Eddie laughs and shakes his head, taking a few steps forward. He hesitates as Stan looks at him again. He knows what he wants to do, but he’s not sure it’s possible._

_“Can we— are we corporeal?” he asks. “Because I need a fucking hug.”_

_“Honestly, I don’t know,” Stan replies, “but I need one too.”_

_He takes his hands out of his pockets and holds his arms open, looking a little apprehensive. Eddie closes the distance and wraps his arms around him. He’s solid. Strangely warm. His cardigan smells faintly of vanilla. Stan holds Eddie gingerly at first, but then his arms tighten into what can only be described as a bear hug. It feels like he’s shaking. Eddie buries his face in Stan’s shoulder, feeling his throat tighten with emotion. Everything here feels vivid, real. Maybe it is._

_“I missed you,” he says, voice strained._

_“I missed you too,” Stan says, “All of you.”_

_Eddie breaks down. His heart feels raw, bloody. All of the sadness he held back when Richie comforted him a few nights ago is bubbling to the surface and spilling out of him. His hands ball into fists, gripping Stan’s cardigan as the sobs rock through him. Stan holds him impossibly tighter, one of his hands moving up to comfortingly stroke Eddie’s hair. All Eddie can do is cry and cling to him. He missed the losers his whole fucking life and never knew, never could figure out why there was a void in his chest he couldn’t fill. No matter how many friends he made, or how hard he tried to form connections, he always felt out of place because his place is beside them. It always has been. Being back with them made him feel whole. He could conquer the world; he could fight a child-eating space clown and win. Without Stan, though… without Stan, it hurt. It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair._

**_This isn’t fair._ **

_The thought is so jarring Eddie feels as if he’s just been splashed with cold water. He abruptly stops crying and goes still in Stan’s arms._

_“Eddie?” Stan asks. “Are you alright?”_

**_This isn’t fucking fair._ **

_He slowly releases Stan’s cardigan from his grasp, arms loosening from around his back. Stan follows suit and releases Eddie as well, pulling away enough to look at him, concern painted all over his features._

_“Eddie?” he asks again._

_Eddie’s gaze moves to the posters on the wall, then to the empty hammock, the old Thundercats comic laying face-down in the dust, the nails in the ceiling Ben painstakingly hammered in. His eyebrows gradually pull together until a deep crease forms between them. He looks angry when he finally meets Stan’s eyes._

_“This isn’t fair,” he says, repeating what’s been bouncing around in his head for the past few minutes. Something’s ignited in his chest and he feels like he’s about to catch on fire. Stan stares at him, the worry on his face turning into understanding._

_“It isn’t, you’re right,” he says._

_“I didn’t want to die,” Eddie continues. “I shouldn’t have had to. I just— I finally stood up to my wife and got the balls to leave, I faced my worst fucking fear and wrapped my hands around Its throat, I—”_

_His voice cracks as tears of frustration gather in his eyes._

_“I finally told Richie how I feel with my last fucking breath. And now I’m just— what, I’m gone? I’m dead? Bullshit.”_

_Stan frowns. Eddie isn’t done._

_“You should have been with us, this shouldn’t have happened. We should have went in there and ripped It a new one and walked out together.”_

_“And I shouldn’t have done what I did,” Stan says, one of his hands moving to touch his wrist. Eddie’s expression falters. He reaches out and takes Stan’s hand in his as he continues speaking. “I didn’t see a way out and I thought I could… I thought taking me out of the equation would give you all a better chance.”_

_“We need you, Stan,” Eddie says, gently squeezing his hand. “We’ve always needed you.”_

_“I know,” Stan breathes, eyes closing. He takes a shaky breath. “I think I’ve always known, I just didn’t let it sink in, but… shit, Eddie. I’d give anything to go back, I’d do anything to see Patty again, to be with all of you again. That’s all I want.”_

_“Maybe you can.”_

_Stan looks up, confused._

_“What do you mean?”_

_“This doesn’t have to be it for us, we don’t have to accept this. There has to be some reason we’re still here in the clubhouse.”_

_Stan looks deep in thought for a moment, eyes widening slowly._

_“No, you’re right… there has to be something because I— I woke up here, afterward. Why did I wake up here?”_

_Eddie’s gaze moves to the ladder, to the closed hatch._

_“Have you tried to leave?” he asks._

_“The hatch is locked,” Stan replies, glancing back. “Or stuck. It wouldn’t budge when I tried it, but I haven’t tried it since.”_

_He looks back at Eddie, hopeful._

_“It’s dead, right? You all killed It?” he asks._

_Eddie instantly realizes what he means._

_“Do you think… It locked us in here? Trapped us here?”_

_Stanley shakes his head._

_“I don’t think It put us here, no. This place… it’s like a safehouse. I think something else put us here, but I do think It might have kept the door shut so we couldn’t leave.”_

_Eddie stares at the hatch, thinking it over. Derry’s always been weird. Even before that fateful summer, when It was still hibernating miles beneath them, he noticed things weren’t normal. People went missing a lot and they were crueler than anywhere else he had visited with his mother. Derry was tainted, as if everything It was seeped into the cracks of the asphalt and the pipes and the veins of everyone who lived there. But there was more to it than that— something else brought them all together, the losers. They were meant to meet, Eddie’s always believed that. So maybe there’s something else here, something good left that tried to preserve them. A little bit of magic._

_“We killed It with belief,” Eddie finally says. “Maybe we can bring ourselves back with belief, too.”_

_The ground suddenly lurches beneath them, structure buckling with such force that the wooden planks in the walls strain against the sudden impact of soil. Eddie grabs onto a structure beam to keep his footing and it promptly shifts, dirt raining down on his shoulders._

_“Fuck,” Stan says, grabbing Eddie’s shoulder. “What’s going on?!”_

_“I don’t know!”_

_There’s a chorus of loud cracks, like firecrackers going off, as the wooden planks holding up the walls split in half, soil and mud beginning to flood into the clubhouse like water._

_“Shit! Shit, we have to go,” Stan says, reaching out to grab Eddie’s wrist._

_He sprints toward the ladder as more debris and dirt cascades down from the ceiling. The second they reach it, Stan pushes Eddie in front of him, glancing frantically backward. There’s a small sinkhole forming in the middle of the clubhouse, growing wider and wider by the second._

_“Climb!”_

_Eddie grips one rung after the other, hoping they hold his weight. He’s filled with a visceral fear when he realizes the ladder is taller than he remembers; it seems to be growing every time he makes progress, like some fucked up dream._

_“Stan?” he calls back. “You behind me?”_

_“I’m here! Don’t look back Eddie, just keep going!”_

_The cave-in is so loud that Eddie can barely hear him, but he keeps climbing, relieved to see that the hatch is finally within his grasp. He reaches out and hits the wood hard with his palm, pushing upward with as much strength as he can muster. It gives way, slowly swinging open as Eddie keeps pushing. His body suddenly feels heavy as he tries to climb further, like he has rocks strapped to his legs._

_“It’s open, Stan! We’re almost there!” he yells over the cacophonous thunder of wooden planks splintering._

_“Right behind you!” Stan replies, panicked. “Shit, we have to go faster!”_

_Eddie gets his arms up over the hatch, hands gripping at grass and leaves. He feels dirt cake under his nails, realizing with a jolt that they’re in the Barrens. For some reason, he expected something else. His arms shake as he pulls himself the rest of the way up, crawling out onto his knees. He turns around and freezes as he finally gets a good look at the inside of the clubhouse._

_There’s nothing left of the bottom but a gaping hole that goes down so far that Eddie can’t even see the bottom. He doesn’t have to wonder where it leads. The image of the cavern It fell into is burned into his mind too well. Stan’s struggling up the ladder, parts of it breaking away behind him. Eddie gets onto his stomach and holds out his arms._

_“Stan! Grab onto me!”_

_Stan reaches up and grasps Eddie’s forearms just as the rung he’s on snaps in half. He drops, all of his weight now on Eddie’s arms, his hands gripping onto him so tightly that his bones ache. Pain seizes Eddie’s shoulders with the sudden pull of Stan’s body and he grits his teeth, suffering through it._

_“I got you,” he manages to say. “I got you, I’m not gonna let go.”_

_“Eddie, I’m— I don’t know if I can do this,” Stan says, voice wavering._

_They lock eyes and Eddie sees the same Stan he knew twenty-seven years ago who was terrified to go into Neibolt. He remembers holding him in that sewer after It attacked him, blood streaked down the sides of his face. They were so scared they had lost him, they promised they wouldn’t let anything happen to him again, but something_ **_did_ ** _happen. This time, he’s not letting it. No fucking way._

_“You can. You’re strong, Stan, I’ve seen it!” he says, arms straining. “You’re so close, you just have to help me pull you up.”_

_Stan bites his lip and lifts himself up slightly, attempting to reach some of the remaining rungs with his feet. Eddie keeps his grip on Stan’s arms and pulls, ignoring the pain of his shoulders stretching in their sockets. His ribcage is being pushed into the ground enough that it’s hard for him to breathe. After a moment, Stan regains his footing and adjusts his hold on Eddie. The strain on his shoulders lessens, but they’re not out of the woods yet._

_“Keep climbing, you’re almost there,” Eddie says, glancing behind Stan at the gaping chasm beneath them._

_To his horror, more of it seems to be falling away. The ground under his stomach begins to shift. Oh, they don’t have much time at all._

_“Fuck,” Eddie gasps. “Hurry.”_

_Stan scrambles up the last couple steps, moving his hands to grip Eddie’s biceps. He sits up slowly in the dirt, helping Stan pull himself above the hatch until they’re both falling on their backs, sprawled among the foliage. If Eddie’s body felt heavy before, it’s worse now; he feels like an entire house is on his chest, holding him down._

_The ground continues to quake._

_“I think the whole thing’s coming down,” Eddie breathes, attempting to sit up._

_Stan hastily gets up, giving a glance backward._

_“I think so too,” he says, leaning down to help Eddie to his feet._

_His legs feel like lead. Stan grabs his hand and takes off into the underbrush, pulling Eddie along with him. There’s an awful ripping sound as the trees behind them are pulled apart by their roots, sinking into the fissure that’s opening like a maw behind them. Branches whip by and Eddie isn’t sure how he’s running or how they’re even still alive. He’s only half-lucid, Stan’s hand the only thing tethering him to any kind of awareness._

_“The Quarry!” Stan yells back. “We have to jump!”_

_Eddie focuses and sees it, dead ahead. The brush melts away into a rocky cliff, nothing below but water. They’ve done this so many times before, one more time shouldn’t hurt. It’s not like they have a choice. When they reach the edge, there’s no hesitation. The rock behind them splits in two as they sail off the cliff together, hand in hand._

_They plummet. Time slows. The water comes up to meet them and Eddie feels himself break the surface and begin to sink._

**_“Hold on, Eds. Stay with me.”_ **

_The water pulls him deeper. Its warmth is comforting. He doesn’t feel Stan’s hand anymore— he’s not sure where he is._

**_“Drive faster, Ben!”_ **

_His chest expands as he takes a breath. Air fills his lungs instead of water._

**_“Jesus, he’s— he’s fucking breathing! He’s alive!”_ **

_The water becomes thinner and Eddie finds himself sinking faster. For a moment, he gets the sensation of falling, as if he’s drifting off to sleep too fast._

Eddie crashes back into consciousness with a jolt, but he doesn’t move; he can barely feel his body except for the sheer heaviness of it. His hearing gradually starts to work again and he becomes aware of a steady beeping, so piercing it makes his ears hurt. There’s a feeling to the left of him, a pressure. His hand?

Oh. Someone’s holding his hand.

_I’m awake,_ he tries to say, but nothing happens.

Frustrated, he focuses every bit of energy he has on what he assumes is his hand and tries to squeeze. His fingers twitch. He feels whoever’s beside him jump.

“Eds?” the voice asks, breathless.

It’s the most beautiful sound Eddie’s ever heard.


End file.
